The Wife
by tudor-rose445
Summary: As the wife of the prince Gwen knows that she is destined to one day rule beside him.  Yet the road to the throne will not be simple.  The second entry in "The Once and Future" series.
1. Chapter 1

AN:

I have missed you all! I am extremely excited to post this and I hope that it has been worth the wait.

Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing. :)

Enjoy!

P.S...**elegantpaws **provided the inspiration for the pillion.

Disclaimer: The BBC owns "Merlin".

Gwen slowly felt herself awaken.

The young woman closed her eyes tightly, keeping from opening them to greet the day.

Her thoughts still disarranged after the heavy sleep, and the unfamiliar surroundings coming into her view when she finally took a sneak peek, did nothing to take away the drowsiness. As she tried to shift her legs, her thoughts felt hollow and empty, yet her mind instantly filled in the questions: Why was she so tired? Why was she so sore?

Shifting slightly she felt something completely foreign to her till this moment in her life – a body of another lying next to her, with no barriers to separate their flesh. She could not tell which leg was hers and which finger she could move without stirring the warm hard body next to her.

She looked up, and was momentarily blinded by the sun's reflection upon golden disarray of short thick hair.

Cautiously she shifted up onto her elbows to gaze at the slumbering man beside her. Her husband.

Arthur looked remarkably different while he slept. Without the somewhat hardened look he carried about at times, she could now see glimpses of the boy she had known as a child. Back in the uncomplicated past the prince had yet to witness the executions of hundreds with magic, see the queen buried. Naïve and full of hope, he dreamed of becoming a knight of Camelot and making his father proud; that was before he did become a knight and hundreds of men were struck by his sword.

Still somewhat dazed she didn't notice herself sigh. Being this close to him, it took her breath away…

_He was beautiful._

Arthur must have felt her gaze upon him, even in his sleep, as he too slowly began to open his eyes. For a moment surprise registered in his blue eyes before turning into something akin to content.

"Hello," he whispered, reaching out a hand to brush back some of her curls, which had fallen over her shoulder unchecked.

She gave him a shy smile in response, averting her eyes.

It seemed, in the light of day, that she had become more embarrassed than the previous night.

He chuckled lightly, tipping up her chin gently so that their eyes met.

"Are you feeling alright?" he questioned, still keeping his tone low. She tried to discreetly check her limbs for any damage but just found that she was sore in her lower region. She knew that, unfortunately, she would be unable to sit a horse for the next few days.

"Yes," she responded, allowing her head to recline upon the pillows once more.

He gently took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before rubbing it.

Their eyes met at the moment, each taking in one another. He slowly moved closer to her and she found herself tilting her head to better accommodate his intentions. The morning light and everything around them froze when his lips pressed to hers. Hesitantly she pushed back on his lips, gathering some of her courage to respond to him. Evidently she had done the right thing as his hand moved to cup her face, drawing her closer still. She felt her pulse pick up, beating a hurried pattern against her ribs. A shiver ran through her and she couldn't breathe.

'thud, thud'

Gwen broke away from him, letting out a surprised gasp at the sound. Having heard the noise she pulled away from him, smoothing her wrinkled nightdress as she gathered her wits about her.

Arthur mumbled a curse under his breath as the knocking increased, added now by the sounds of various knights.

He moved to swing his legs out of the bed hurriedly, nearly tripping over himself in his haste. Holding onto the bedpost in order to right himself the prince reached for his discarded trousers.

Guinevere kept her eyes on the coverlet, unwilling to lift them to know that he was in the middle of dressing.

"I will be with you in time for breakfast," he told her after pulling on his boots. He haltered hesitantly and flashed her an apologetic grin before exiting their bedchamber into his sitting room. From beyond the chamber door she could hear his muffled words. He was greeted by a mixed response of laughter and cheers.

Gwen felt her face grow red as she allowed her head to hit the pillows.

The young woman jumped once more as the door from her sitting room opened, allowing in Batilda and her ladies. Her former nurse looked a bit put off, most likely by the traditional greeting of the groom going on in the next room over.

"Come along lamb," she said, approaching the bride.

Instantly her ladies moved to tidy up the room.

Eleanor snuck her what she thought to be discreet glances as she gathered up the prince's discarded clothing all over the floor, as if wondering how it got there and how her lady was still in one piece.

Beatrice stripped the bed of its sheets, separating the blood stained one from the others. She folded it before knocking upon the door leading to Gwen's sitting room, which prompted Jane the chambermaid to open it. A whispered conversation went between the two until Jane took up the soiled sheet, leaving the ladies to their work.

As Gwen had been halfway to her dressing chamber, where Catherine was waiting with a basin of warm water and a rag, she had noticed the whispering.

Furrowing her eyebrows she directed her questioning gaze to Beatrice.

She knew that the sheets were ruined, but why the hushed and hurried conversation?

Seeing her mistress' confusion Beatrice provided an explanation.

"The king wishes for evidence, Your Highness," she said, trying to ignore the embarrassed coloring of the princess' face.

"Ah," was all she managed to get out, ducking into her boudoir to save herself from further embarrassment.

Catherine looked up from where she had been ringing out a now damp rag. She observed the new wife quietly, taking in her rather disheveled look.

"Are you all right, my lady?" she asked, her tone quiet so as not to attract the attention of the other girls flying about the room next-door.

Gwen gave her a small nod, keeping her eyes on the basin of water.

"If I may?"

Her head turned up as Catherine gestured to her collarbone.

Frowning slightly she nodded, allowing the noblewoman to approach her and brush aside her hair.

The woman quickly hid a wince, yet Gwen had caught sight of the grimace before she could hide it.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to keep panic from her tone as she stepped beyond the partition to her vanity. She glanced into the mirror, finding the black-and-bluing spot that had began to form near her neck.

She withheld a moan of disapproval and instead faced back to Catherine, fighting against a blush. "We will just have to arrange my hair to cover it," she suggested, stepping behind the curtain once more to dress.

Batilda shooed the other woman from behind the partition and gently helped her former charge tidy herself up. Gwen refused to meet her gaze throughout the cleaning, not knowing what the woman thought of the traces of dried blood and the remains of _him _mixed with it on the inside of her thighs.

She tried not to move her hips too much as she was being dressed, knowing that with more movement she would feel the tenderness in her lower regions. Was it supposed to ache? She wanted to ask but found herself much to timid to raise the question.

Batilda helped her into a gown of purple silk with silver embroidery up the bodice and sleeves. The material formed bell sleeves that nearly trailed upon the floor when she took a step.

After being dressed Beatrice brushed out her hair before Eleanor placed the diamond necklace that the king had given her for her betrothal around her neck. The chain did little to hide her bruises, yet if she remembered to keep her hair a certain way she didn't think anyone would notice.

As the ladies finished her cosmetics, Jane knocked upon her door, alerting her that Arthur had returned and wished to join her for breakfast in his rooms.

For a moment Gwen wondered if he knew that his father had requested their sheets.

Would he be embarrassed to know that the man wished to see something so intimate?

Probably not, by the relaxed behavior he had shown the night before.

Nodding in thanks to her ladies she slipped through the door leading to Arthur's sitting room, noticing that he too had changed into his day clothing. She dropped his gaze in embarrassment, her doe eyes meeting his blue for no longer than a second.

How did they go back to being friends after last night?

**0o0o0**

Things had gone better than he had expected.

For starters she hadn't simply refused the marriage act, nor had she done anything to stop him. Naturally, she had been timid, but at least she hadn't lain entirely stiff beneath him. Nervous, but not hostile to his touch; he remembered the smooth leg hooked about his waist pulling him closer.

But it seemed, without the sanctuary of darkness and spiced wine in her system she reverted back to her timid humble ways.

He had hoped that she had gotten past at least some of her shyness around him, now that he had seen all there was covered beneath layers of clothing. Well, not _everything_. Her supple bosom had alluded him, the part of her anatomy that tempted him so.

The week before his wedding, when his father had just begun to walk about once more, he and the king had had a rather awkward talk. His father must have been in one of his _ever-increasing_ nostalgic moods as he reminisced his own wedding. But the conversation had turned, then, to what the king expected of his son regarding his new wife.

An heir was required, that went without saying. Multiple if they could manage it. Arthur knew he wouldn't have any trouble getting his new wife with child. At least he assumed that there shouldn't be any difficulties, considering the frequency he meant to lay with her.

And then his father had spoken of the actual wedding night.

He had tried to appear mature, truly. Yet a telltale blush had stained his cheeks throughout the entire conversation. It was simply something that one did not talk to their father, the King, about, especially as the woman in question was his ward.

Yet, if he had to admit, the man did provide him with some useful information.

Not stripping Gwen completely bare had been one good pointer. He had only had relations with women who were no novices to the act before, and had found it difficult adjusting his pace suitable for someone so innocent as his new wife. It appeared that leaving her breasts covered had helped her somewhat, even though she hadn't protested when he had touched them beneath the fabric.

But she had to realize they couldn't stay like that forever, didn't she? She had to know that the barriers would be discarded, surely…

He had been rather pleased with how things had gone, however. He hadn't wished to push her too hard as he knew it would be rather uncomfortable for her. The only downfall to the night was that it had been a wasted chance at her becoming pregnant. It was common knowledge that the only way for a woman to become with child was if both partners reached completion. It was simple anatomy.

He had seen the beginnings of it in her eyes the previous evening, a bit of a dawning in them that she had felt something. Yet he hadn't wished to push her over the edge entirely as she had been hurting enough without him adding more soreness to her limbs. There would be time for him to show her how enjoyable it could be.

He held out his hand to her which, thankfully, she accepted. Gently he guided her into one of the chairs at the empty table, taking his own seat after her. He watched for any reaction from her as she carefully unfolded her linen napkin yet found that she was well guarded this morning.

No _"Well Arthur, that had been pleasant",_ or "_When are we doing _that _again?_"

Frankly, he hadn't expected it either.

Silence fell between the two as Merlin entered, balancing two plates in his hands. Remarkably he managed to carry them both to the table without spilling or breaking anything. Arthur had to grudgingly admit that the buffoon had learnt quite a lot and has become somewhat acceptable since he had come into his service.

Watching as his wife greeted the servant with a small smile, Arthur felt a rather sharp pang of jealousy run through him. Guinevere would smile at Merlin, yet she wouldn't even look at him? Her husband?

He felt uneasy at such strong unreasonable possessiveness, and as soon as the manservant left, Arthur broke into conversation.

"I was thinking, perhaps in a few days, we could go for a ride together. Just the two of us."

She perked up for a moment, her doe eyes lifting from her plate.

It wasn't often that she was allowed to go anywhere unguarded. Not only because of her position, but also due to her sex. Yet if Arthur went accompanied her, she would need no further guard. Her husband was both protector and chaperone in one.

"We were gifted a new saddle by Lord and Lady Barkley, with a pillion pad. Have you ever ridden pillion before?"

Her dark brows furrowed for a moment as she paused in her quest to gain her goblet.

"No," she answered, shaking her head, "but I have seen others ride."

It was an extremely intimate way of riding as the female, sitting on an additional pad behind the saddle, had to hold onto the rider's middle in order to stay upright.

"I was thinking that, once you've become accustomed to it, we might ride together as such when we go on Progress," he commented, trying to make it seem like an offhand comment. He didn't want to her to see how heartily he wished she would ride with him, allowing them to be so close. He knew better than to scare her off with such passionate thoughts.

He watched as she nodded, gracing him with a small smile.

"I would like that," she replied, causing him to keep his expression in check.

If only she knew that a simple smile from her could turn him into an excitable squire.

A 'thud' from the next room over, followed by his manservant's muffled curses, caused her to turn in her chair to observe the door.

"What was that?" she questioned, half standing as the noises increased.

Arthur sighed, mentally reconsidering his earlier praise of his manservant. "Your present," he replied, standing and beckoning her toward the door of their bedchamber.

It was common the day after a wedding for a groom to gift his wife a piece of furniture. It was a somewhat crude 'thank you' for her maidenhead.

He shouldered open the door, allowing her to see Merlin slide the piece into place. The manservant stood, wincing as he glared at the offensive bench.

Arthur turned to see Gwen's expression, only to see her hide a giggle at the idiot's antics.

"Did you hurt yourself, Merlin?" she questioned, suddenly serious as she watched him wince.

"Not at all my lady," he insisted, yet his expression told a different story. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the young man played up his 'injury' for his wife. If the boy had been smart enough to ask for assistance instead of attempting to slide the long bench across the floor on his own...

His train of thought shifted as he watched Guinevere approach the piece of furniture, seeing her run her delicate hand over the back of the bench.

It was a rather long bench that fit underneath the double windows overlooking the courtyard. The pillows, outfitted in red silk, lined the length of the wood.

"I thought it would be, er, beneficial. I mean, for you to outlook over the courtyard."

She turned back to look at him.

"It is lovely," she said, sitting carefully upon it. Hesitantly she patted the spot beside her, prompting him to follow her command.

Merlin quietly left the room.

Turning towards him she smiled slightly, perhaps the first genuine smile she had given him that day: "Thank you."

He tried not to let show how much her enjoyment of his gift made him feel. Yet the effect his young bride had on him was clear to everyone but the lady in question.

**0o0o0**

"How was it?"

Gwen glanced up from her embroidery to the Queen of Gore sitting across from her, noticing that some of the woman's color had returned to her cheeks. The queen of Gore nursed a goblet of asses' milk, suggested by Batilda to aid her growing child, looking at her friend slyly beneath her lashes.

As far as she knew not even Uther knew of his daughter's pregnancy. Gwen had carefully questioned her friend about it and had found out that she had yet to tell Ursien himself.

Gwen tried to appear as if the question did not bother her, "It was..." She trailed off, shrugging her shoulders in an un-ladylike manner.

Morgana barely stifled a laugh as she set down her goblet, picking up her own discarded embroidery.

"Well, you are still alive, aren't you? My brother has not changed you beyond recognition."

"Oh shush," Gwen insisted, yet she found herself failing at hiding a smile.

Seeing her friend hide her giggle behind her embroidery hoop, reminded her of the old Morgana, the girl that she had grown up with.

If Gwen had to be the butt of her jokes then she would gladly allow it, just for her friend to have some gaiety in her life once more.

**0o0o0**

For the first time in quite a while Uther had all three of his children gathered at his table. Guinevere, who had always been practically a daughter to him, was now truly a member of the family by law and state.

How they had changed!

What would Igraine think, to see the three sitting there?

Would she comment on how brave Arthur turned out to be, leading Camelot's army into victory whenever needed? On how beautiful Morgana had become – a queen with her own lands to rule? Or on how Guinevere, their humble little ward, had grown into a lovely and graceful young woman - one day to bare Igraine's own crown?

He reluctantly jarred himself from his memories as the meal was served. He noticed, throughout the chatter, that his daughter barely touched any of the food on her plate. If anything she was moving it around; a trick of her childhood.

He kept silent mostly throughout the meal, still feeling the effects of that damned poison from time to time. More than once since he had been allowed out of bed he simply wished to sleep the days away once more. But he couldn't, not with the people knowing of his condition. That was why he was pushing himself to follow along on the Progress even though the long ride did not appeal to him at all.

Guinevere reached for her goblet after making a remark to Arthur, her curls slipping from where they had been resting against her collarbone at the movement. She seemed to have felt the movement, faltered, and then quickly moved to adjust her hair.

Yet it hadn't been quick enough for Uther to miss the dark spot that adorned her neck.

He withheld a chuckle and instead pretended as if he had been absorbed in his plate.

He knew his son had gone through the act of consummation with his daughter-in-law successfully, as he had seen their sheets, but it was the marks forming on the young woman that proved just how enthusiastically his son had thrown himself into it.

It certainly wasn't just a matter of duty for the prince.

Uther hid a laugh as he sipped at his wine.

Yes. He expected to hear news of a grandchild by autumn.

**0o0o0**

Gwen fought within herself as the rest of the meal dragged on. She knew, once the plates had been cleared, that she was expected to retire with Arthur to their new, shared compartments. There she would be at the mercy of the man across from her, and his desires. Would he wish to... again, so soon?

She sincerely hoped for the opposite. She had felt pain the previous night, which was to be expected, but she still found herself wincing if she moved a certain way. She knew it wasn't supposed to hurt, as much, the second or third time but by the soreness of her lower half she begged to differ.

Could she outright deny him?

She tried to keep up with the flowing conversation but she found herself too involved in her internal battle. It was a blessing and a curse when Arthur stood up, nodding to his father.

"If you would excuse us, Sire," he began, "but myself and Guinevere will be retiring now."

Uther gave the two a hidden smile, setting down his goblet.

"Goodnight," he said, echoing his words from the previous night.

Gwen swept him a quick curtsey, gave a small smile to Morgana, and took Arthur's extended arm.

She tried to keep her expression guarded as she passed her friend, yet the woman, having known Gwen for too long, noticed the look of apprehension in her eyes. But what could she do? Nothing. Even as Arthur's sister, Morgana could not interfere between a husband and wife.

"It is a shame that Morgana will be leaving tomorrow," he commented as the two began the path leading to their chambers. "I did not realize how much I missed her."

Gwen snuck a peek at the knight beside her. Despite the squabbles he had gotten into with Morgana throughout the years, he truly did love his sister. She wondered if he too missed the simple careless days that the three had spent together in the past.

"Hopefully we will be able to visit in the spring," she commented as they reached the door to his salon first.

He shouldered it open before allowing her to walk in first.

"I think it will have to be some time after that," he said, pausing outside of the door that led to his own private chamber. It seemed almost useless for him to have it, in her opinion. Why, she needed the room for her voluminous gowns, her vanity table, her jewelry. His vests, tunics, and breeches couldn't take up that much space.

He didn't give her a chance to question his words, adding: "I should hope that you will be with child by then. The trip at that stage will be too much for you."

Her mouth fell slightly open as if she was to comment but instead she quickly shut it.

"Of course," she muttered, glancing away.

Married for a day and already children were at the forefront of their minds.

"I best prepare for bed," she said, ducking out the door that led to their bedchamber. He watched her go for a moment, wondering if he had said something wrong, before calling for Merlin, late as always, to fetch a sleeping tunic.

Gwen, meanwhile, went about preparing for bed as slowly as she could.

She pointedly made an effort to speak to her ladies once she entered her boudoir, listening to them gossip about the day. She only made a move to slip into her nightdress once Lady Beatrice gave her a rather pointed look.

_The prince could not be kept waiting._

After Catherine finished braiding her long hair Gwen found herself looking for some other nightly ritual to finish up. Yet, finding nothing, she steeled herself to re-enter her bedchamber. Arthur, as expected, was already there, nestled beneath the blankets. He waved his hand as the women tried to curtsey, causing them to file out of the room.

With courage she didn't know she had Guinevere climbed into bed beside him. Without giving him a chance to speak she turned to him, her thick braid falling over her shoulder.

"I was thinking, well hoping... If we could perhaps wait-"

"Shh, Gwen."

He held out an arm for her, silently asking for her to move closer.

Taking a deep breath she moved into the confines of his arms, preparing herself for whatever he was to do.

Instead of demanding anything, as she had expected, he simply wrapped his other arm about her.

He stroked her hair as she slowly relaxed against his warm broad chest, finding the position that she had fallen asleep in the previous night.

"I understand," he whispered to her, his hand continuing its pattern over her head, pausing at the nape of her neck.

He held her as she fell asleep, feeling his wife's gratitude in the grip she had about his waist.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hi guys. I hope that you all like this chapter. It is getting harder for me to write as school has started, so in a few or two I might be moving to every other week updates.

Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

"Remember to write often," Gwen instructed her friend, embracing Morgana as she waited beside her horse. The princess had expressed her concern in private about her pregnant friend riding, yet Morgana had brushed her worry aside.

Morgana nodded silently as she held onto her friend before moving to her brother, clutching him tightly. He whispered something to her before relinquishing the queen. She finished the small semi-circle of family with her father who had barely hidden tears in his eyes.

Was it just Gwen, or did Morgana not seem as sincere in her embrace with her father as she had been with herself and Arthur?

Still confused, she watched as her friend was helped atop her horse, giving her family a last farewell before being led off by her entourage of knights.

Thankfully Morgana hadn't, to Guinevere's knowledge, sought out Merlin. Perhaps she had accepted that it was over.

The princess wished that her friend could have stayed longer, but she knew that the woman couldn't dare tarry anymore. The queen had arrived earlier than the rest of the wedding guests and had left a day after they had. Not to mention that she had a husband waiting for her in Gore.

What would Ursien do when he found out that his wife was with child? Hopefully he would leave her alone until the birth of the babe. Yet, judging by what she had seen and heard of the king, Gwen doubted that he would.

Thoughts involving her future niece or nephew reminded her of the conversation she had with Arthur the previous night. She knew that it wasn't meant to be an ultimatum when he mentioned that visiting Morgana would only be possible after the birth of their first child. All the same it sounded like a condition. And it was fair; once they had a baby, preferably a son, she would be allowed more freedom to do what she wished.

A baby.

What would it feel like to carry a child within her womb? To feel it move and grow? She had seen plenty of pregnant women at court before but had never been present at an actual birth. She knew it would hurt; reading catechism about Eve's punishment, even as a child she understood the extent of such pain.

She found herself shifting her footing in her unease.

Well, _Arthur _had managed to fit but that had been painful.

And, even though she hadn't actually looked at his manhood, she had felt it. And what she had felt had been rather large.

But not as large as a baby's head!

"Guinevere?"

Her husband's hand on her arm brought her back to the present.

"I was just thinking," she said, trying to push away her discomfort with a small smile.

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly wishing for her to elaborate.

Well, she couldn't tell him _exactly_ what she had been thinking of. "Of your birthday feast," she amended, knowing that she indeed had yet to plan it.

He linked their arms, steering her from the courtyard.

"You could start with the preparations the morning before, it would still turn out a spectacular sight," he teased, pleased noticing a blush now spreading across cheeks at his compliment.

"You had best take care," she said, swatting his forearm playfully. "If you continue flattering me as such, I shall have as large of an ego as you."

He rolled his eyes as she laughed.

"I had promised you a riding trip. I left Leon in charge of the knights for the afternoon… hoping that you would accompany me."

His demeanor changed to hopefulness, as if he fully expected her to turn him down. Surely she wasn't that disagreeable towards him, if she was it was not on purpose. Though still a bit sore, her discomfort was nothing compared to the aching the previous day.

"With the pillion pad?" she asked, curious to try this new riding style.

He nodded, changing their course to the stables.

Being alone together both intrigued and discomforted her.

Alone, without the eyes of the nobles and the small, knowing looks that she had gotten all of yesterday and today would be a relief. She knew it was now a common knowledge that she and the prince had consummated their marriage, yet the approving looks and hidden smiles made her rather uncomfortable.

Yet, getting away from the court meant that she would be alone with her husband. Alone, where no one else would see or hear them.

Brushing aside her apprehension she half-listened to him as he requested his palfrey to be saddled with the gift, not making a move toward him until the stable boy returned leading the horse. His sword, resting in his scabbard moments before, had been transferred to the leather holder attached to the saddle.

Gwen picked up the hem of her skirts, clearly expecting him to give her a leg up onto the horse. Instead the knight grabbed her about the waist, depositing her behind the saddle on the pad set for her. She scrambled to set her skirts in order once more, catching sight of her husband's barely hidden mirth.

Grumbling to herself she moved to wrap her arms about his torso once he had mounted.

"Find your center of balance," he instructed, turning his head slightly to look at her once he had steered them from the stable yard. His ungloved hands guided the horse onto the path taken just recently by Morgana's party. Instead of following the main road, as they had, he turned them off to a horse trodden path.

She balanced herself upon the pad, thinking that his instructions sounded rather like when her father's Master of the Horse had first taught her years ago. They trotted along the path and, Gwen decided, this style of riding was rather alike how she normally rode. Without the pommel, that is, which she wrapped her leg around for the support. But if she used Arthur as a sort of 'pommel' for her arms and if she kept her back straight she found it much easier to sit the gait.

She could feel, so closely pressed up to him, that his arms were straining to hold the animal back.

"Let him run," she said, tilting her head so that she could speak closer to his ear.

"You had best hold on then," he instructed, chuckling softly as he adjusted his grip.

"Tell me if I'm squeezing you too hard."

"Squeeze away milady, squeeze away."

With that he relaxed his grip a bit upon the reins, nudging the animal slightly with his heels. The grateful gelding took off at a swift canter, carrying the two down the tree-lined path.

Gwen allowed a laugh to bubble up from her throat, not worrying about whether anyone might hear and criticize her on showing such emotion.

She focused on keeping her seat, refraining from turning too stiff, and found that she was able to sit the canter much easier than she had expected.

Moving up to rest her chin upon her friend's shoulder she felt his back muscles move as he followed the rhythm of the horse with his arms. She felt freedom like she hadn't felt in quite some time as they nearly flew along the path. A feeling of abandon, with no danger of dread ahead.

They weren't the Crown Prince and his Princess. Nor were they husband and wife. Here, alone in the woods with nothing but mother nature surrounding them, they could be just Arthur and Gwen.

Slowly the prince returned the horse to a trot, allowing him to wind down into a walk.

Gwen loosened her grip about the man's waist having not realized how tightly she had been holding him.

"How was it?" he asked, patting the horse's neck before turning to glance at her.

Her cheeks, bright from both the excitement and the pace they had travelled, dimpled as she smiled. "It was fun," quite genuine with her smile.

"I think, I would like to ride like this, for at least some of the journey, when we go on this year's progress tour."

He nodded and, as he was turned away at the time, she couldn't see the excitement barely hidden on his face.

He halted the horse beside a brook of fresh running water and dismounted.

Arthur held out his arms for her, helping her to slide down to her feet.

As she dusted off her skirt he pulled out a blanket from the leather saddlebag, handing it to her: "I'll just tie up the horse; could you put this down?"

She nodded, unfolding the thick warm wool with linen coverlet carefully before spreading it out upon the grass. Her gaze moved to the stream as she slipped off her shoes.

It was terribly hot out for June-nearly July- and no one could fault her with taking this opportunity away from the court's prying eyes to cool down. She indiscreetly cast a look at Arthur, checking to see that he was still attending to his horse, before rolling down her stockings.

Sighing she walked carefully into the water. The stream, running low in the summer drought, lapped just above her ankles. With her skirt bunched in one hand she allowed herself to close her eyes, breathing in the very scent of the forest about her.

"Do you remember-," he started, breaking her from her reverie as she opened her eyes, "-that time Morgana went to chase me out of the water, and fell in the mud?"

Gwen giggled, turning to face the man that she now called husband, before making her way back to him.

He held out his hand for her to grasp as she climbed up the bank.

"I do not think I have ever seen her that astounded since then," she commented, remembering the event quite well. She had been nearly in tears from her laughter as she had tried to help her friend clear the mud from both her gown, skin and hair.

She dropped his hand as they both sat upon the blanket. Reaching for her stockings she moved to roll them back up her legs.

"No...leave them," he requested, causing her hands to still.

She gave him a questioning look but nevertheless set the stockings back on the blanket.

Silence fell between the two for a moment, as each seemed transfixed with thoughts circling through their minds.

Finally he spoke.

"How are you feeling?"

The question could have meant a myriad of different things. Was she feeling well? Were her humors off, perhaps? Was she adjusting well as the wedding chaos settled down? Was she … healed?

Knowing it was most likely the last mentioned, she nodded.

"I am feeling... much better," she said, unsure of what to say. She was feeling better but she certainly wasn't going to describe it to him in detail.

He nodded – a movement she caught from the corner of her eye. "Good." He hesitated before placing a warm comforting hand on her arm. "You know that I would never hurt you, do you not? That the discomfort the other night was unavoidable?"

She nodded, not speaking for fear that her tone would wobble in her embarrassment.

His hand drifted up to her face, brushing back a stray curl.

"We should head back," she announced, gathering up her discarded stockings, "I did not tell my ladies where I was going". She slipped the two transparent garments back on, trying to keep her legs covered with her skirts as much as possible before stepping into her shoes.

She tried not to notice the barely hidden look of disappointment upon his features as he folded up the cover they had been sitting upon.

Wordlessly he hoisted her up onto the pad once more, untied the palfrey, and swung himself up into the saddle.

She frowned into his back as they broke into a trot. Did he honestly expect to … _have relations_ with her here? In the middle of the woods? Or had he just been trying to assure her that things would be different next time? Either way she had just rejected him.

She wasn't supposed to do that, was she?

Feeling torn between self-preservation and obedience she kept quiet the entire ride back.

**0o0o0**

Arthur stared up at the ceiling as he waited for Gwen to finish preparing for bed. She was, as she had the previous night, taking an inordinately long time dressing.

Had his attentions scared her off?

He hadn't meant to frighten her this afternoon, truly. He had simply wanted to just talk to her. With the constant threat of prying ears overhearing their private conversations in the citadel he had chosen that remote spot in the woods, hoping that she too would appreciate the secluded solitude.

He had drawn up a noble plan to soothe her fears by speaking to her in confidence, but that had all been dashed when his young bride had taken off her damned stockings. He had then thought back to the other night, when her bare legs had met his for the first time. And then his mind had turned to mush – his thoughts and intentions not so noble. They forgot to mention this when he vowed to follow the knights' Code of Chivalry…

He wasn't proud of how she made him feel. For some time now, the prince has been struggling with the constant urge of simply grabbing a hold of his father's ward and kissing her senseless, propriety be damned. He's lost count of the number of feasts and banquets, when he's lost track of time while staring openly at either her or shooting daggers with his eyes at one of her male dinner companions. Even Merlin has come under suspicion on one or two occasions.

Thinking as a typical male warrior would, Arthur fully expected these urges to subside once he's claimed her as his wife for all the world to witness, neither knights nor Barons would dare to linger their gazes upon her now. Yet, it seemed that after he's finally acted upon his urges on their wedding night he couldn't stop the swelling within his limbs every time thoughts of her crossed his mind – most inconveniently frequent thoughts they were. His possessive thoughts and behaviour worried him; he felt something akin to a stumbling boy in love.

In love…

He exhaled rather loudly, letting his fingertips beat out a pattern against the coverlet.

Who was he kidding?

He had been in love with her since he had seen her at his crowning ceremony, two years ago.

The door opening broke him from his thoughts as his wife appeared, clad in her nightdress.

Gwen gave him a half smile before padding across the room to their bed. Once she had pulled the blankets over herself, the princess chanced a look at him. Her shyness was endearing, but it was beginning to put a damper on their child-making.

She gave him a look bordering on apprehension and expectation.

Gently, as if he was going to reach for a spooked horse, he cupped her face. "Do you remember what I said? This afternoon?" he questioned, watching as she nodded.

"Arthur-"

"Do you trust me?"

She seemed surprised that he had asked her such a question and she stuttered over herself. "I- I trust you," she answered, watching him in slight confusion.

Once hearing her confirmation his lips descended upon hers.

Within a few moments she relaxed against him, moulding her lips to his as she allowed herself to melt into his embrace.

Slowly he let his hand drift up her leg, resting upon her upper thigh. Her hands drifted through his hair, leaving his scalp tingling.

There.

She liked_ that, _apparently.

He knew that he had to take things slow with her but it was so difficult. After months of wanting her, he still couldn't ravish her as he wished, despite him being her husband in every sense of the word. He couldn't – wouldn't – be able to stomach the distrust glistening in her eyes if he acted upon his desires.

Carefully he pushed the cloth further up her stomach, right before the line of her bust.

Still kissing her he began to untie the elaborate lacing.

Her hand, threaded through his locks, came to rest hurriedly upon his hand among the laces. She tore her lips from his, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

The newly-weds had a staring match for a beat before Arthur brushed back her curls in a comforting manner.

"Trust me," he repeated, determinedly finishing the lacing.

With wary Guinevere she raised her arms, helping him to free her from the garment.

Fully expecting his eyes to meet her bare bust his view was blocked by her arms, snugly covering her breasts.

"Gwen," he said, drawing out her name in a teasing manner. Gently he placed his hands on her wrists, moving them down slightly. She allowed him, refusing to meet his eye the entire time. Instead, it seemed, a crack on the ceiling had suddenly become fascinating.

Blue eyes scanned eagerly the rounded form, bared fully for the first time. "Beautiful," he whispered, not noticing that she had finally looked at him.

Was the awe that he felt that obvious?

His lips collided with hers as he began to shrug himself out of his pants. One of his legs caught in the fabric, causing her glorious little chuckle at his ineptness. Arthur smiled against his beloved's lips as one of his hands drifted across her toned stomach, climbing to her now unclothed bosom. He felt her breath catch in her throat as he slowly kneaded the softness, making sure to be as gentle as possible despite his own need. He was then pleased to hear the small gasps that escaped her throat in response to his ministrations, prompting him to grip them more determinedly.

If she liked that, would she like this?

He moved from her lips, kissing down her neck as she arched it for him. Instead of stopping at her collarbone, where he had left a mark two nights earlier that had yet to heal, he dipped to her breasts.

A gasp escaped her lips as his mouth lingered there, 'testing out the waters' to see how she would react. Finding that she didn't move to bat him away he turned his attention to her right breast.

"Arthur…"

The sound of his name, pronounced in a pleased whisper set him hard in a way he hadn't thought possible. It almost hurt, how much he wanted her.

He readjusted himself at her opening before slowly entering her.

Exhaling with pleasure, he gave her a moment to become used to the appendage again, despite his eagerness to just keep going.

Gently he started a rhythm, holding onto her hips with his hands to show her how to follow. He shifted one of his hands to grip her shoulder, finding, much to his satisfaction, that she followed the movement-pattern that he had showed her. Without jarring her too much he raised himself to his knees, lifting her lower half with him.

Her mouth fell into a soft 'o' shape at the movement. Rocking against her he found that she picked up on this new pace, meeting his hips. He had to get her to completion first, otherwise it would be more difficult for him.

Shifting his weight forward he was met with a rather glorious gasp from his wife.

Smirking to himself he repeated the thrust, a bit harder this time, and was met with a soft moan.

That delightful little gasp that he could liken almost to a kitten mew. It would seem that Guinevere had a difficult time to keep quiet, and he rather liked that he was the cause for her indiscretion.

Arthur studied her expression waiting for the moment that it would dawn upon her. She was being extremely expressive tonight and he hoped their second night joined together wouldn't disappoint.

He moved closer in between her thighs, as close as he could so that she couldn't distinguish where she began and he ended – finally, he saw the realization in her eyes.

She looked marginally confused for a second before her doe eyes widened.

Feeling her lower muscles tighten around him was enough to send his own release within her.

He leaned down, capturing her lips and the moan that had been halfway through her throat.

Carefully lowering her hips back to the mattress, he unwrapped her legs from around his waist, and placed them back on the blankets.

He stayed rooted inside of her for a moment longer, enjoying the warmth that she provided as they fought to catch their breath.

"See?" he questioned, his tone sounding odd even to himself as he was winded. "You can trust me," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers.

She nodded touching his shaved jaw with trembling palms, not bothering with words, and pecked his lips.

Reluctantly extracting himself Arthur moved onto his side, drawing her closer. Content to have Guinevere so close to him, enveloped in his strong arms, the prince fell asleep rather quickly.

While he slumbered the young woman beside him stayed awake, confusion marring her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

AN:

I had orginally decided to skip a week as school has been keeping me busy, but I never told any of you, and then I decided not to, and then I forgot to tell Guardian Izz...

If this chapter is a mess, blame me. :P  
>As I am trying to remain as historically correct as possible, I have included the medieval view of pregnancy. For example, it was thought that the correct way to make a child was for both partners to reach completetion, as there was no sense of 'sperm' and 'egg' then. It was simply fluid. Also, some of you might feel annoyed with the fact that Gwen is upset that she is not yet pregnant, although only married for a few weeks. Pregnancy was expected to happen right away, even though in most cases it did not.<p>

This is more of a filler. Sorry guys.  
>But the next chapter will be post in 10 days instead of 14.<p>

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

"And what she said next-"

Gwen stiffened as she listened to Catherine prattle on about the court lady she had overheard the previous day as a warm liquid exuded from her.

Hoping against hope that it wasn't what she thought it was she excused herself from the conversation, ducking behind her changing screen. Batilda glanced up from where she had double checking the princess' clothing trunks, which were to be carried down to the courtyard in a few moments to prepare for Progress, by the woman's abrupt flight. She followed the young woman behind the partition, watching as Gwen's face fell upon seeing blood in her undergarments.

Without being asked Batilda ordered Catherine to fetch a fresh garment and linen padding, while Beatrice and Eleanor looked on in confusion. It took them only to see the soiled garment for them to realize what had occurred, which caused them to fall silent.

She knew that even though they had only been married for about two and a half weeks that she shouldn't have expected to fall pregnant right away, but she had supposed with the _frequency _in which he had taken her that they might have gotten lucky.

Her skin burned, as if she could feel his touch.

She had become more used to sex despite not yet being the one to initiate it. She didn't shrink away from it; that was an improvement, right?

The entire concept and the fact that he was still coming to her bed had confused her. She had expected, by the simpering looks that most of the female courtiers gave him, that he would have gone to the more experienced ones than her. Yet instead he had returned night after night, slowly easing her into this new form of intimacy.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his patience; it had helped her get over her fear somewhat of who he was beneath his layers of clothing. It was just that she hadn't exactly expected to enjoy it.

What she had been told of the act, especially by Morgana, was that it was to be terribly uncomfortable and embarrassing. That was what she had set herself up for their first night, and hadn't found herself very off her mark. Yet the second time they had she had felt something different all together.

That climbing, mounting burning that had both frightened and delighted her.

Gwen hadn't exactly known what it was yet he had been pleased by it. It had only been later, sometime during the night as she was unable to drift off, did she realize that she had made sounds during it. Her cheeks had flamed as she lay across the very person who had elicited those noises from her. Yet, if anything, he had seemed pleased by the short gasps and soft moans that had arisen from her.

It had only been the morning after that she thought to ask Arthur what she had felt. Yet, facing him in the light of day, she found that she could not. She had three options then: Gaius, Batilda, or Beatrice. If she couldn't bring herself to ask her husband she couldn't imagine asking Gaius, even if he was her physician. Batilda she knew would try to sugarcoat it; the woman still saw her as a child.

Yet Beatrice was married and so far had proven trustful.

As discreetly as possible Gwen cornered her lady-in-waiting the next morning to ask about the sensation. What she learned had set her skin on fire.

But not from embarrassment, but from annoyance.

_'_To make a baby' she had been told. Apparently both partners needed an emission of fluid in order to conceive. _Yet why had no one told her that?_

If anyone it should have been her former nurse to explain things to her, yet the woman refused to acknowledge her former charge's non-virgin state. She loved the woman dearly, yet her motherly attitude could be most frustrating.

Emerging from behind her dressing partition she tried to appear as if nothing was wrong in the early morning dimness. Yet it was clear to every member of the room what had just happened.

"We must make haste," she ordered, flying about as she tried to help speed up the last bits of packing. It was much easier to worry about whether or not she would need an extra shift or a heavier cloak than the lack of a child in her womb.

As page boys were directed into her chambers to bring her trunks down to the courtyard she pondered the choice of the king to go ahead with that summer's Progress. He couldn't be faulted for missing one year, especially as it concerned his health. Yet it was exactly because of his health that she knew he insisted on going. He could hide his fatigue from his courtiers yet the people would wonder why, if he claimed he was healed, that he did not take his annual trip to survey the kingdom.

Smoothing a wrinkle from her sleeve she nodded to her ladies, leading the small party from her dressing chamber to the corridor. Moving about the busy servants she took the path to the courtyard where already members of the court that were to accompany the king were mounting their horses.

Gwen tried to hide her feeling of apprehension as Arthur trotted up to her, pillion pad in place behind his saddle. Bouncing on the animal's back with her cycle- not to mention the stomach pains that were currently forming in her womb- didn't seem like the most ideal activity. Yet she had promised him, hadn't she?

She forced a smile onto her face as if nothing was wrong. As if she hadn't already failed at being his wife.

One of the stable boys, having just handed off a steed to an awaiting noble, moved to help her onto the back of the horse.

"We are just waiting on my father," he explained, readjusting his hands upon the leather reins. He turned his head slightly, observing her from the corner of his eye.

"We shan't be following our normal route; it is much shorter this year."

No elaboration was needed upon the prince's words, as both knew that a long trip would be too much for the king.

He cleared his throat, turning to face forward once more.

"I'm sorry that we won't be able to stop at your estate this year."

Gwen was glad that he had his back turned, as she thought she was doing a poor job of hiding her disappointment.

"Perhaps next year," she suggested, thinking that it seemed such a long time away.

She knew what needed to happen though before she could even take a foot in her family's estate's direction: she needed to birth a child. It had been the same with visiting Morgana.

"Arthur, I need to-"

"Let's get a move on."

The king appeared at the entrance of the courtyard, brusquely walking past members of the court already astride. From far away one might think that the king was the picture of vibrancy. Yet his eyes told a different story entirely.

Knowing that this wasn't the right time to tell Arthur that their efforts had failed, she instead gripped his waist as the party took off.

0o0o0

The estate of Lord and Lady Edgar was nearly brimming with people. The two hosts were constantly circling about the banquet hall, speaking to their guests and urging them to accept more goblets of wine. The pair had always been a favorite of hers to visit whenever they went on Progress as the two had always been so kind to her and the royal children during their youth.

She remembered that the couple had had a son while she had been a child, yet the boy had died shortly after his fifth birthday. It seemed that their grief, especially that of Lady Edgar, had effectively sealed up the woman's womb.

Yet while many of the nobles had no interest in children, let alone their own, the noble pair would inquire after health and educations of the Pendragon children.

Gwen had just finished speaking to Lady Edgar, as the woman had greeted the small gaggle of noblewomen she had been standing near, and moved to grab a goblet of wine off a servant's tray.

"Not with child yet, are we?"

She turned suddenly, her hand tightening upon the stem of the glass.

One of the noblewomen that had been in the royal entourage had broken away from the other women and was approaching the princess.

Without waiting for an answer she continued.

"Everyone knows by now, my lady. I'm surprised that the prince doesn't."

Was it her, or did this woman sound insincere when addressing her with her title?

She searched for the woman's name, recognizing her as Lady Arabella.

"How-"

"Washerwomen are very talkative with coins in their hands," she explained, her brow furrowing. Her tone changed as she paused before the woman.

"'Tis a shame though, is it not? I thought, with the frequency in which the prince was seeing you, that you would be with child by the end of the month. But alas, it is the first of July and you are not holding the future heir."

Gwen opened her mouth as if to retort but was unsure of what to say, yet the woman continued.

"Perhaps His Majesty is simply bored. Why, how can you expect a man to be virile if he cannot become 'stiff'? Maybe what the prince needs is someone to excite him. Have they spoken to you about that? Lapping at a man with your tongue?"

The woman sounded as if she was concerned, yet her icy gaze kept Gwen from believing her.

Lapping at what?

"I...I do not know what you mean," she said, feeling her cheeks grow red.

"Come now, all you have to do is ask," the woman baited, a smirk threatening her cherry red lips.

"He has always enjoyed it in the past."

Realizing that she had been conversing to one of her husband's former mistresses, she hurriedly excused herself before melting into the crowd.

Arabella watched her leave, a satisfied look about her features, before returning to her friends.

Beatrice turned from where she stood, back to where the two women had been speaking, casting the treacherous noblewoman a severe look.

0o0o0

As space was limited to the amount of courtiers that had accompanied the royal party, and the fact that their hosts' home was nowhere near the size of their citadel, the couple was given a single bedchamber. It was there that she found herself sitting upon a plush lined stool while Beatrice combed her long hair.

Batilda was helping the other women unpack Gwen's clothing for the next day while going about turning down the bed. By all rights Merlin, as Arthur's servant, should have been helping them. But knowing Arthur he had probably sent the boy on an errand.

Seeing that the other women were busy with their tasks, Beatrice leaned down to Gwen's ear.

"You should not permit courtiers to talk to you the way Lady Arabella did, Your Highness," she commented, meeting Gwen's eyes in the mirror before the stool.

The young woman carefully rearranged the jeweled hairpins that had dotted her onyx curls earlier that night where they rested upon the table top as she thought over her lady's words.

"I can handle myself, Beatrice," she admonished lightly, half-turning on her stool to observe the older lady.

"I thank you for your concern, but it is unneeded."

Beatrice bowed her head slightly, knowing that to say more would be upsetting to her mistress.

Without bothering to knock Arthur strode into the room, taking in the excess of females, before settling upon his wife.

"That will be all," he ordered, nodding as the women curtsied before leaving the couple alone. Gwen allowed him a half-smile before turning back to the mirror, wielding Beatrice's discarded brush in her hand.

"Here."

Gently he took it from her, having crossed the room to where she was, and began to drag the bristles gently through her curls.

Without having realized it, the princess gave a soft sigh of satisfaction at the sensation of the bristles caressing her scalp..

His movement halted for a moment, causing her to meet his eyes in the mirror. The blue depths were considerably darker, as they often were when he was atop her at night.

But what had she done? She had sighed...had that pleased him so much?

She supposed, if she thought about it, that it had rather sounded like the soft noises she made alone with him.

Feeling redness spread across her face she averted her eyes to the table top. She had to tell him that she would be unable to be physical with him this moment, or she would find herself being pressed down upon the bed a moment later.

"I am on my menses," she explained, the blush burning from both embarrassment at the topic and shame that she had yet to become pregnant.

Once more he began to brush out her hair, as if the moment that had just passed between them hadn't happened.

"It is only the start of July," he commented as he let his fingers drift through the silky strands.

"Do not fault yourself so early."

He rested the brush against the table top before moving to rummage through his clothing chests for sleeping pants. He mumbled something about his 'inept servant' before finally coming across the clothing that he wished for.

Carefully she divided her hair into three sections, beginning to braid it.

She tried not to glance at him as he dressed, and instead moved toward their borrowed bed to settle herself in. Why she felt that she should not look she did not understand; it wasn't as if she hadn't already seen what was beneath his clothes.

He came to rest beside her bare-chested, looking rather cooler than her in his attire. She inwardly lamented that because of the flowing of menstrual blood she too could not sleep with less layers. Instead of keeping away from her, as she had imagined he would, Arthur pulled her closer to him.

He pressed a kiss atop her head, leaving her to wonder if he was not upset with her lack of child as she had first thought.

0o0o0

"I sometimes think about him."

The group had left Lord Edgar's early that morning, moving onto the next leg of their trip. If they kept this pace, and were unheeded by any rain or other such weather, they would arrive at Baron Galfridus' not long after sunset.

Having found her thoughts drifting as their horse trotted on she tried to bring herself back to reality.

"Or her."

Ah.

Their future child.

She wasn't exactly sure what type of father her husband would be. Would he be involved in his child's life? Or would he prefer at the offspring stay with his tutors and nurse? Uther had been rather involved in the lives of the royal children although his interest had waned slightly after his wife's death.

Having thought that Arthur would follow this track, she was surprised that he was even thinking of the person they would be bringing into the world.

Even though she did not comment, he knew that she was listening.

"I know it is rather sentimental," he said, dropping his tone so that he was not to be overheard by anyone other than her. She knew it wasn't the most becoming look for the head of the army to be gushing over his unborn child. She placed her chin upon his shoulder, listening closer.

"But I can't help thinking about them from time to time."

She tightened her grip about his waist slightly, telling him without words that she understood him.

As the conversation dropped once he was overtaken by Sir Owen, Gwen found herself thinking about a little boy with caramel curls and a little girl with onyx hair.

One day.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I think that I am going to stick to this 10 day posting schedule. That is, until I have a chance to write a few more chapters. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Thanks to Guardian Izz for beta-ing.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

Gwen gently splashed the back of her wrists in the stream, focusing on the coolness that the water provided. She knew that Progress during the summer months was piratical because of the lack of snow and so forth, yet the heat was always intolerable. It was especially so for the women of the entourage, clothed in their heavy silks and brocades. She supposed it was not as frustrating for the men as they could ride about in light tunics when out of their armor or, as she observed a gaggle of noblemen walking downstream, go swimming.

But then again, Progress was organized by the king- a man- and she shouldn't have expected any different.

If anything she was grateful that her menses had ended for this month; at least she was somewhat more comfortable than earlier in the week.

Straightening Gwen dried her hands upon a handkerchief she had procured from underneath her sleeve, readjusting the skirt. She did not know for how long the party would stop by this river, yet she hoped for a little while longer of the break from the dusty road.

Glancing about she noticed that Eleanor, who had been charged with looking after her, had been distracted by a certain dark haired knight. By the tinge of the girl's cheeks and the way Sir Kay was leaning against the far oak, they certainly weren't wasting their time remarking the weather.

Holding back a smile the princess ventured away from the river, not wanting to bother the two. She should advise the inexperienced lady-in-waiting that courtly love rarely lasted, and that she should not yield anything to her admirer due risk of being forgotten. While Sir Kay did not strike her as the type of man who would do such a thing, Guinevere had seen plenty of young female hearts being broken by men's inconsistent nature. She didn't wish to see her friend, still so young and naïve, suffer from such a fate.

"- obvious that Arthur is staying with her merely out of pity."

She pulled up shortly, listening closely to the small group of young noblewomen a few yards away from her. Apparently they were under the assumption that their conversation was unheard as they dipped their handkerchiefs into the water to blot at their heated faces. Guinevere hid behind the nearby tree, listening closely.

The woman who had just spoken, Lady Arabella, finished wringing out her scrap of linen. "He must still see her as the little orphan his sister had kept as a companion. I am sure he doesn't see her as a woman, or she would have been with child by now."

One of the women to the near right seemed surprised at that statement, furrowing her eyebrows. "But … they have yet to be wedded for a full month," she said, as if trying to provide half-hearted argument.

Arabella shrugged, clearly not impressed by this factual technicality. "The prince is a virile man," she commented, a knowing look prominent upon her features. "Why, if it had been me, I would have been with child and not bleeding as she had."

Gwen turned away, feeling her chest tighten with hurt and resentment for the vulgar woman.

How dared she utter such insolence in the company of other members of courts?

Gwen had half a mind to turn about and scold the woman, to see her ridiculed among her fellow gossipers. Yet instead of implementing this fierce behavior the future queen turned on her heel, putting as much space as she could between the offending persona and herself.

Why?

Because she knew that although the shrew was spreading vicious gossip, she was also speaking the truth.

With the frequency in which her and her husband have had intercourse, a child ought to have been begotten by now. Instead she had failed in this vital task already.

The icy grip of realization felt strangling, suffocating her as she realized what this meant: every month that her womb produced no fruit of life she would be ridiculed and plotted against behind her back. Taunted for failing in a wife's most important duty.

Guinevere forced herself to take a few deep breaths in order to steady her frantic heartbeats.

A son.

As soon as she gave birth to a boy some of the pressure would be lifted.

Her head swimming with the task ahead of her, she returned to where her mount was grazing, not noticing that Beatrice had once more witnessed the entire scene.

**0o0o0**

Nearly a day and a half later the party reached the next noble estate, allowing the road-weary travelers a chance to recoup.

Lord and Lady Barkley, the providers of the saddle that Gwen had grown accustomed to, had greeted their guests graciously in the early afternoon. As the travelers were not expected to be in the great hall for supper until later that evening, many members of the party had taken the chance to rest before the banquet.

While Catherine and Eleanor helped the princess out of her traveling gear into a shift to take a short nap, Beatrice took the opportunity and slipped away from the chamber. Knowing that the prince was not in his shared chamber with the princess, having just been there, she wracked her mind to think of where he would be at this time of the day. The stables being a natural conclusion. He would have most likely gone there to make sure that the mounts were tended to in the stead of his still ailing father. Even she, a courtier not too privy of the royal family's private dealings, heard the rumors and knew about King Uther's condition.

Nobody who was fond of his or her head, however, spoke of it. The unspoken concern rested in the air: what if he was to die? Arthur had shown great courage on the battlefield and had trained the Knights of Camelot into a force to be reckoned with: was that enough? To her knowledge the prince seemed to do his father's 'dirty work' more often than practicing actual politics and ruling of the kingdom.

Feeling her cheeks redden slightly in shame for thinking badly of her future monarch the prude lady-in-waiting quickened her steps. It was the responsibility she felt to the prince, after all that was the reason she was seeking him out. Her mistress, though of a kind nature, was perhaps a bit too free-spirited and had too many independent ways about her when it came to certain matters. She felt, apparently, that she could handle whatever difficulty that came her way on her own. Beatrice, as an experienced loyal wife, knew that a husband was to handle his wife's welfare.

The way that courtiers talked to her, for example, should not be permitted. Lady Arabella had no right to speak to her lady in such a fashion, nor to mock her in public, nor gossip behind the princess' back. Did that woman forget that the princess was to be queen? Her superior in every way!

Perhaps Arabella had been close to the prince in the past, and felt scorned and threatened by Guinevere's new position.

Beatrice honestly didn't know whom exactly the prince had been intimate with in the past but, if she had to make a guess, she supposed someone like Arabella would fit the criteria for a mistress. She was older and had a tempting appearance. She was neither of a too high birthright, nor was she a permanent residential courtier in Camelot. She also had a husband; an elderly baron, who did not give a thought to his wife's dealings. The woman dared to judge their future queen when she herself was childless already in her late twenties.

Keeping her eyes demurely upon the ground she crossed the small courtyard of the Barkley estate, taking a right that would lead her to the stables. The smell alone was enough to indicate the correct path.

Arthur was speaking to one of his knights beside the open door to the now packed stable, finishing up a minor conversation. Hiding her relief that she had guessed the prince's location she stopped before him once he moved away from his fellow man at arms.

"Your Highness," she began, curtseying before him.

A quick wave of his hand had her straightening a moment later.

A frown settled upon his brows. "What news do you bring me?" he asked, knowing well enough that she served his wife.

_A woman's first duty comes first to her husband._

"My lady has been keeping something from you..."

**0o0o0  
><strong>

Batilda stood up, corking the bottle of bath salts as she stretched.

"There you are, milady," she said, turning to the princess, currently wrapped in a clean sheet. Guinevere crossed the room to the large tub that was placed in front of the hearth. She slowly unwrapped herself from her covering before, leaning on Batilda's arm, stepping into the wooden bathtub. A soft sigh slipped past her lips at the feeling of the warm water on her skin. After weeks of traveling on the road and only having the chance to refresh herself with rags and the occasional quick dip into the lack, it felt heavenly to actually fully submerge herself in clean fresh scented water, not worrying about prying eyes in the bushes.

She sunk beneath the water, almost up to her chin, and closed her eyes. "That will be all Batilda," she ordered, peeping one eye open at the nurse. "Thank you."

The former nurse smiled and nodded silently, gathering up her mistress' soiled clothing and exiting the chamber. She had dismissed the rest of the women for the night, allowing them to go to the kitchens for a late meal. There wasn't much else for them to do. Elderly Lord Godric, the master of the castle, had been widowed for quite some time and, with grown children a plenty, had no need to remarry. Gwen had disliked visiting such places in the past, as with no Lady to receive the women of the court the noblewomen's activities remained limited.

Guinevere tilted her head back against the tub where Batilda had thoughtfully left a roll of linen for support. The tension of the first month of her marriage seemed to simply roll off of her as she lounged in the hot water. With her cycle over she would have to jump back into heir-producing once more. She hadn't expected to actually enjoy the act, with Arthur no less, and it made her feel shameful afterwards while lying naked in his arms.

"Your Highness! Please, the princess is in her bath."

Hearing Batilda's protests her eyes snapped open. She half turned in the bathtub, hearing her husband's muted voice behind the door. Turning away quickly, her hand reached for her discarded sheet. The click of the door opening and closing stilled her movements; instantly she withdrew further beneath the water, keeping her back to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't join you for supper," he said, pausing directly behind her. She folded her arms carefully over her chest, not knowing why as he had seen what lay beneath them already.

"You were speaking with Lord Godric," she excused him, shrugging. Her attention focused on the ripples in the water caused by her movement. "It is only right, him being our host and such."

She had half hoped that he would leave her alone now that he had apologized. Yet instead he knelt behind her, close enough for her to almost feel his breath against her neck. She wasn't sure if she was pleased or upset that Batilda had pinned her hair up.

"I don't think he even remembered who I was," he commented, prompting her to chuckle quietly. She almost turned around to speak to him face to face, but remembered her state of dress and thought better of it. "I believe I heard him ask my father about 'the blond lad' and when my 'trials' will commence."

"You should have humored him; told him that you hoped to be knighted soon," she teased him, reaching for the linen rag that Batilda had draped over the rim of the tub for her to wash with. Her fingers fumbled with the cloth, sending it over the edge of the rim onto the floor below. She froze for a moment, contemplating whether to actually stand before him and grab it or not.

Instead of either choice, Arthur reached for the rag. Silently he dipped it into the warm bathwater, wringing the rag of its excess water before gently rubbing at her back.

She sighed, tilting her head downward so that he could reach the sensitive skin of her neck. He moved onto her right arm, laying a gentle kiss against her shoulder. As he rubbed the scented water over her bare skin his lips took hold of the sensitive flesh of her neck. She rolled her head backward, allowing him better access. Faintly she realized that a mark would remain the following morning, but the sensation of his lips kept her from minding too much. His hand clutching the rag moved from her arm to rest upon her bosom. His hand burned against her chest, even guarded with the rag. Gwen realized, with a start, that she had actually missed his caresses the past week. She had grown accustomed to them and to have them ripped from her, even for such a short time, found her wanting them once more with a passion. She felt as if she was on fire, and she had no way to put out the flame. But he could.

Gwen spun quickly in the bath, sending a bit of the water sloshing over the rim, before crushing her lips against Arthur's. He seemed surprised for a second, as it was usually he, who was the initiator of physical contact between them, but he recovered fast and eagerly. His wet hands threaded through her tresses once he unpinned them, relishing in the feeling of her magnificent long curls. Her own hands, feeling wrinkly from being submerged in the water, explored the expanse of his back through his tunic as she clung to him.

Fire met fire as the couple seemingly battled each other with a hunger that both shocked and fascinated Gwen. She had felt the first tingling of desire during their past forays into such behavior, but she had not expected herself to initiate.

Without thinking about it she began to tug at the material of his tunic, silently urging him to rid himself of it. He reluctantly broke away from her, nearly tearing the fabric as he pulled it over his head. As if he hadn't missed a beat he returned his lips back to hers, adding to the fire that pooled in her lower stomach.

Not giving her a warning he stood, taking her under the arms and lifting her with him.

She made to protest, having her body dragged from the warm water, but found herself pressed up against his bare torso. If possible, his skin was hotter than even the water had been.

None too gently he placed her on the bed, covering her with himself a heartbeat later.

Her hands drifted down his chest to the ties of his trousers, hastily unlacing them. She had become rather crafted in the art of "disarming the enemy", compared to their first night when she had found her knuckles banging together, her hands trembling.

As his palm ghosted over the sensitive flesh of her breasts, she moved to lower his trousers. Her soft hand accidentally brushed against his length, by now hard, and he gasped.

Instantly she sobered, breaking away from him quickly. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, concern etched across her features that had been tinted with lust only a moment earlier.

His eyes had taken on a rather dark tint, one that she had associated with their nights together. "N-no … it was just the first time that you _touched me_."

He didn't need to specify the meaning of his sentence. Curiosity filled her as she lifted her hand, hesitating, before gently coming to rest it upon his flesh.

He closed his eyes, struggling to keep his breathing even.

A feeling of power swam over her at his reaction.

A single touch could break him down like that.

Having never had power over anyone in her life, especially a man, she found herself unwilling to give up the feeling. Hesitantly she drifted her fingertips over him, looking at his expression from time to time to see if she was doing it right.

Without speaking he took her hand, placing it fully on him.

Slowly he guided her in a back and forth motion, relinquishing her hand once she had learned it.

It felt… weird. Yet his soft groan of appreciation quickly helped to wipe away the awkwardness she was feeling. After a few more strokes of her hand he quickly drew her fingers away.

She looked at him in confusion before feeling his own hand creep down her stomach.

Her eyes widened as his fingers paused before her entrance. "Those don't go there!" she protested frantically, fighting to keep her tone low so that half the castle didn't hear them.

A look between lust and confusion crossed his face before he laughed. "My innocent wife," he teased, leaning his head down to place a kiss between her breasts. "Although not so innocent moments before when you _attacked_ me..."

A blush colored her cheeks as he settled himself above her.

"I didn't attack you," she protested, although she couldn't meet his eyes.

He entered her, causing her thoughts to turn from her earlier indecency to the burning in her loins.

After, when he had made sure that her liquids had joined his inside of her womb, he held her against his chest, his other hand drawing lazy circles or some kind of mark on the flushed skin of her hip.

He brushed aside her curls as she tried to return her breathing back to normal. "You know that you can tell me anything, right?" he asked, causing her to glance up at him.

"I know," she replied slowly, unsure of why he was asking; mesmerized by the blue of his eyes.

He remained silent, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she thought over what he had said to her.

Despite the heat they've created, their limbs remained linked throughout the hours of the night.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Thanks for hanging in there; I posted a bit later than I normally do. The next post will be not this Friday, but the one after. Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

For the third time that week Gwen found her meal resurfacing.

Having seen her mistress' expression, Catherine dove for the recently emptied washbasin to place under the woman's head.

Grimacing against the bitter taste of the vomit still in her mouth the wife straightened up afterward.

She shuddered, having caught sight of the remains of her breakfast, and turned her head.

"As we did yesterday, Cat," she instructed quietly, going to one of her clothing trunks to search for a handkerchief. The lady-in-waiting took the basin and grabbed a nearby cloth to drape over the top. The princess took deep, calming breaths.

Feeling somewhat better after a few minutes of breathing in such a manner she turned her attention to her fidgeting lady-in-waiting.

"Thank you," she said, her face tinged slightly red from embarrassment. Becoming sick wasn't the most flattering thing to ever do, especially in front of another. Yet the other woman had taken her mistress' sickness in stride these past three times and had helped her as much as she could.

It had happened for the first time on the way back from her morning walk. She tried, even on Progress, to take a turn about the gardens or halls. Catherine was charged with accompanying her as her other three ladies were not too keen with traipsing about the grounds. They had nearly reached the manor when she had felt the burning in her chest the first time, giving her just enough time to get to a nearby bush.

She had shaken it off, thinking that perhaps she had eaten something spoiled. For good measure she ordered Catherine not to tell anyone what had happened, as if word got to Batilda or Arthur she would be forced to see Gaius. She didn't want to be the cause of Progress being delayed because she was feeling ill. And anyway, after she had rid her stomach of her breakfast, she had felt much better. It had most likely been a type of food she had eaten.

And then it happened two days later, although she had been lucky enough to have returned to her empty chamber in time.

And then today.

She could feel Catherine pleading with her eyes to do something about the situation but Gwen ignored her as she rinsed the taste from her mouth. She couldn't tell anyone that she wasn't feeling well, especially with the king's birthday feast that evening. It nearly always coincided with the last manor of Progress; she wasn't going to miss the last night.

"Please tell the prince that I will join him shortly upon the green," she instructed to the young woman, watching her curtsey out of the corner of her eye.

Catherine nodded, murmuring a 'milady' before exiting with the bowl. Where she dumped it Gwen was unsure, and didn't wish to know.

Gwen withdrew a fresh handkerchief, and carefully wiped at the sweat that had formed on her face before trying to bring some life back to her cheeks.

Knowing, after around ten minutes, that the half-cheery look she was currently sporting was the best she could do, the princess left her borrowed chambers for the green. The younger members of the court had decided to put together a game of bowls that morning instead of sitting about for the rest of the day waiting for the evening's celebration.

Having always enjoyed the game and, not wanting to snub their hosts' eldest son, she had decided to join in the games.

She took a deep breath before exiting the stone castle and crossing the courtyard to where the game was to be played. If she acted like everything was alright no one would notice; at least, that is what she had been doing to Batilda through the years.

"Decided that you have a chance at winning, my lady?" her husband questioned, a teasing smile upon his lips.

Finding that her eyes had strayed to long on his lips she laughed, trying to mask her flustered behavior.

"You have forgotten how well I play, sire," she answered, continuing to play along with this teasing game. Yet, it was obvious, that there was a hint of flirtation involved.

Ages ago, not long after she had arrived at the citadel, Igraine had taught her to play. The queen herself had been an excellent player and had won quite often when she had played with the children. She wondered what the queen would think of her now, as wife to her only son. Would she be pleased? Would she want someone of a more distinguished birth?

As she stepped past the nobles gathered by the edge of the playing area the men and women bowed their heads to her. At the end of the line was Lady Arabella who, as she remembered, had more than enough criticism to give her. Yet as she paused beside the offensive woman to gain a ball from the attending steward, the woman dropped her a polite 'my lady'. Gwen had, after some time, managed to gather a little knowledge over the course of her years at court in learning to read people. Morgana had been far better at it but Gwen thought that she could hold her own by now. The woman, who had spoken condescendingly to her before, spoke now as politely as it seemed she could. Her tone was rather flat, as if she did not wish to utter the words, yet they were not tinted with hatred or teasing as they had once been.

Gwen found herself staring at the woman, who refused to meet her gaze, for a moment before rolling her first turn.

As she returned to the end of the line she hid a frown.

What had happened?

As she was thinking this over she missed the hidden look that Arthur had given the two and, at Arabella's subsequent politeness, smile.

0o0o0

"Not too tight, Eleanor," she instructed the young woman as she was laced into her corset. Gwen had grown used to the contraption after years of use and had learned to 'suffer in silence'. Yet lately she had been most sensitive in the upper area of her breasts. She supposed that she had perhaps had had the stays too tightly laced the past few days and that she was only feeling the repercussions now.

"But it will not fit correctly, my lady," the younger woman pipped up, hesitance flashing across her features.

Gwen inwardly groaned.

"Then lace it as normal."

She could put up with it for the night. Once the feast was over the garment would be discarded. She hid a blush as she busied herself with adjusting her sleeves. All of her clothing would be gone if Arthur had his way.

She wouldn't admit it, but she was starting to look forward to these thrilling nights with her husband.

After giving the woman a nod of thanks, Gwen stepped toward the mirror above the vanity table. Although the small mirror did not reflect her entire ensemble back to her, she could gather enough from the glimpse she was given that she looked presentable for that night's festitivites.

Grey flowers were imprinted upon the fabric, covering it completely. How many hands had stitched the yards and yards of fabric that currently draped her body? The fabric had cost quite a bit and Gwen wouldn't have normally purchased something so extravagant, princess or no princess. Yet the cloth had been a bridal gift from one of Uther's councilors. She knew that the man most likely wished to gain her favor from such an extravagant gift, but that didn't stop her from commissioning a gown from the cloth shortly after her wedding.

Gold brocade outlined the square neckline of the gown while lining the outside of her sleeves. The bell sleeves, one of her favorite fashions, dusted the floor every time she moved. The gown was normally worn with a gold shift that reached her collarbone yet, with the heat of that August night, she dressed without the additional bit of fabric. The swell of her breasts was visible without this additional piece of fabric, allowing herself to be marginally cooler than if she had worn yet another piece of suffocating cloth.

The young woman drew aside her sleeves as Beatrice moved behind her, clipping a golden girdle about her slim hips. The chain, with a sapphire placed in the middle, reached to her shins. Brushing back her hair she smiled at her waiting women.

"Thank you, ladies," she said, nodding toward the door. Her women were outfitted in their best attire for the king's birthday feast which, if she judged correctly from Eleanor and Catherine's expressions, made them terribly excited.

Leading the way out of her chambers she followed the path to the manor's great hall. Arthur had long gone down to the feasting, having dressed in a marginal amount of time compared to her own preparations.

She inwardly sighed.

Men.

She paused beside the doors to the hall, nodding to the steward who announced her.

She placed a smile upon her lips as she acknowledged the bowed heads as she passed on her way to the dais, still feeling a bit awkward at such attention. She would have to become used to it, as she knew when she became queen she would be given even more of this courtesy.

Grasping Arthur's hand as he helped her to stand before her chair she turned her brown eyes to the door that she had just walked through. A moment later the king appeared to a polite smattering of applause. He seemed in better spirits than he had been in the entire trip, which made Gwen feel relieved. It pained her to see her former guardian ailing so; he had been a constant in her life for so long and it felt odd to think of him bordering on the brink of death. Yet Gaius had reassured the royal family that the king would live. She hoped that the physician was right.

As the feast began, page boys presented the king with various gifts given to him by his court. In between sipping at her soup Gwen observed the items paraded to the dais: a new collar of gold, a well-oiled leather bridle, a silken tunic. In between watching and eating she patted her cheeks with her handkerchief. The hall was becoming dreadfully hot faster than she had anticipated. She couldn't hide her smile as the next gift- a saddle trimmed in gold- was led to the king. Beneath the saddle was a finely stitched saddle pad of Pendragon red. In gold thread was stitched 'UR', for the king's initials: Uther Rex.

As the page announced who the gift was from, Uther turned to his son and daughter-in-law.

"You always know just what to gift me," he teased, clapping his son on his shoulder before standing to approach his former ward.

"And do I spy your needlework, my lady?" he guessed, pressing a kiss to her temples.

She smiled, clasping his hand with both of hers.

"It is, my lord. I should hope that you will use both for your return to the citadel; you will truly return in brilliance."

Something unspoken passed between the two then. All three knew that if the king returned looking lively and regal there would be less talk about his health.

"You have read my mind, my dear," he commented, smiling once more before returning to his seat.

Arthur grabbed her free hand, silently thanking her for reassuring the king.

She turned to speak to him but froze as the next course was brought in.

A platter of roasted chicken was at the forefront of the fowl course and was currently on its way to be presented to the king.

The aroma of the meat, which normally would have piqued her appetite, caused her stomach to somersault.

She chanced a quick glance around at the nobles closest to her to gauge their reactions. Did no one else smell that terrible odor? The chicken must be rancid.

She turned once more to Arthur to question him about the smell, and felt her entire world spin at the small movement. Feeling a light sheen of sweat begin to break out across her temples she moved to stand. It was Merlin, and not Batilda who was standing off behind her, that noticed the princess' unsteady stance first.

"My lady?" he questioned, catching the former nursemaid's attention.

Gwen had managed to get out of her chair as she fought to steady her vision.

"I'm... I'm fine. It's the smell...," she reassured him, seeing Batilda hover near her from her peripheral vision.

Having been in conversation with his father Arthur only turned now to see that she had stood.

"Gwen?"

"I just need..."

And before she knew it her eyes rolled up, leaving her to fall to the stone floor.

0o0o0

Guinevere sputtered as a foreign smell invaded her nose, causing her to open her eyes sharply. She wrinkled her nose at the satchel of smelling salts that Gaius had been waving beneath her nostrils.

She squinted for a moment in the dim lighting of the bedchamber, recognizing the king and her husband on either side of the bed she was currently reclining upon. Batilda was positioned at the foot, a look of worry forming yet another crease upon her face.

"What?..."

She went to sit up but was gently pushed back down by the physician.

"You had best rest, my lady,"he instructed, packing away the offending stimulant. He gave her an appraising look, as if doing such would be able to diagnose her problem straight off.

"Have you been feeling ill recently?"

She opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, and then sighed.

"Yes," she admitted, ignoring Batilda's frown at her deception.

"I have been...ill in the mornings." It was embarrassing enough to speak to Catherine about them, but now she had to admit them to no less than three other people.

"But I supposed it was because of the heat and our traveling pace."

Traveling pace? She felt as if they were simply crawling along the roads of the kingdom these past few months. Yet she had to give some excuse to not alerting anyone that she was not feeling well.

Gaius hesitated, a single white brow arching.

"If you would please leave me and the princess," he requested of the king, inadvertently asking the other two to leave as well. Arthur gave her a lingering look of concern before reluctantly following his father from the room. Batilda was a bit more stubborn but, after a request from the king, she left the two alone.

Gwen looked down at her hands as Gaius continued to stare at her.

"If you would excuse my speaking, my lady, but has your bosom felt tender?"

Feeling her cheeks flame at such a question she nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"And you said something about a certain smell before you fainted."

She reluctantly looked up at him.

"The chicken smelt off," she answered, knowing how foolish she must sound.

Her long time friend took up a spot on the bed near her, his wizened hands in his lap.

"And when did you last bleed?"

She blinked.

"What?"

He repeated the question again, trying to fight amusement in his eyes as he watched the girl that had become something of a granddaughter to him put the symptoms together.

"I, well, it should have been about a week and a half ago."

"I? I can't? I am?"

He patted her hand as she struggled to come to terms with the fact that she was pregnant.

0o0o0

Arthur glanced up as Gaius stepped out into the corridor. He knew that there must already be rumors circulating the great hall on what had happened to his new wife. He himself had nearly frozen with fear when he had seen her falling, and almost didn't nearly catch her. He had been reminded in that instant of his own illness, as a child, that had placed him on the brink of death.

He had thought that she had contracted the plague.

He hoped that her arms did not bruise as he had been holding her so tightly, almost afraid to loosen his grip that she may drift away.

Their elderly host trotted up to the king, finally having had returned from the great hall.

Arthur barely heard him whisper with his father behind him as all of his attention was focused on the court's long time physician.

Waiting for the baron to leave after updating the king, Gaius addressed the three gathered.

"The princess will be fine. She is, in fact, with child."

Inwardly laughing at the look on the younger royal's face he bid the two goodnight, leaving king and prince alone.

Without waiting another moment Arthur nearly tore into the room, catching Gwen unaware. She jumped slightly, having been still processing the news. She barely had time to move her arms as he embraced her, bringing her to rest against his warm body. She felt his relief in the hug as she held onto him as tightly as she could.

They had done it.


	6. Chapter 6

AN:

This is, by far, my favorite chapter that I've written for this fic, which might seem a bit strange after you read it. But the last few sentences will make you understand, I hope. I've never written anything like it with such emotions and it was interesting to try it. I threw a lot at you in this one, and I'm actually expecting a bit of hate. But...? Maybe I should just let you decide for yourself.

Thanks!

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

"I arranged a meeting with the court silk merchant this afternoon and I put in an order for new embroidery thread."

Gwen peeled back the blankets from the mattress before quickly slipping beneath them. With October looming only a few days ahead the nights had grown cooler. She slid her way across the blankets to her husband's side, taking in his warmth. She was growing less and less hesitant with touching him on her own time, despite still only initiating sex a handful of times. But that had become less frequent now that she was in her second month of pregnancy.

She had been shown to a midwife shortly after returning from Progress, after her father-in-law had announced the news. The woman had advised herself to keep from being physical with her husband for at least another month. The baby needed to take root, or that was what she had been told. She had been a little surprised that the woman had suggested keeping up a sexual relationship with her husband while she was pregnant, yet the woman had explained the benefits of it. As she had been told shortly before her wedding, a woman's womb was naturally cold, while a male's appendage was warm. Sexual relations provided her with the warmth that her husband's limb offered, which could only improve her health. If they were careful, and she refrained from having him lay across her stomach in her later months, the midwife advised that picking up such intimacy would be healthy.

Gwen shifted her thoughts to her child to combat the warmth that she was currently feeling in her cheeks at the intimate thoughts of her husband. Something akin to excitement and terror ran through her at the thought of her baby. She was anxious to see the small person currently forming in her womb. Would it look like Arthur? Or would it prove to be more Leodegrance in its features? She would love to have her son or daughter be gifted with her husband's eyes. She felt that she could spend hours looking into them without growing tired.

A son or daughter.

A son was hoped for, although she personally wouldn't be upset with a healthy daughter. Praise would be heaped upon her if she birthed a strong boy, that was clear. Yet if she gave birth to a girl, who showed no complications, she would be proven fertile. There would still be an urgency for a son, yet her daughter would prove that she could birth a healthy child, even if it was the wrong sex. There would be hidden laughs and mocking glances if she failed to birth a son, but she had rather not think of that.

She could still see the looks of approval she had gotten the night of the king's announcement over a court feast. The smiles had burned themselves into her mind along with the celebratory clapping. She had been so happy- so relieved- in that moment that she hadn't even bothered to look for the disappointed looks she knew at least one noble had been sporting that night. Why, there must be at least one noble family that had hoped that the prince would eventually put her away if she proved infertile. There was always a father, brother, or uncle waiting to push his female relation into Arthur's bed.

Yet, despite her initial worry that her longtime friend would refuse to touch her let alone sleep beside her knowing that she would swell with child, her husband had not given any of these women a second glance.

He drew her closer, allowing her to nestle into his side. Normally they spoke quietly to each other at night before drifting off, updating each other on what they had done while not in each others company. The routine had started shortly after her marriage, during her first cycle, when there was nothing that the two could do. It had evolved into something more than pleasantries to the point where she would be in the midst of relating a story to him while he was undressing her. But of course, the tale would be dropped as soon as his lips touched her skin. She had yet to finish speaking to him whenever he did that.

"I was thinking of embroidering a tapestry," she continued, glancing up at him and trying to discern his features in the dimly lit room. The fire that had been burning brightly in their hearth earlier in the evening had steadily diminished until just the remnants of the great flame remained, leaving little light for them to see by.

"And of what?" he humored her, wrapping his finger around the unwoven tail of her braid.

"The Pendragon crest," she answered, listening to his heartbeat as she explained.

"It will hang behind his cradle, for all to be reminded of who he will one day become." She inclined her head to observe him through the darkness.

"I intend for it to be rather large, hoping that it will take up some time before he is born."

He laughed, stroking her hair.

"But that will not tide you," he predicted, tucking the coverlet so that it was more secure about her torso.

"You will stitch him a wardrobe for three children by the time he is born."

She joined in his mirth, half-hitting his chest in a mockery of outrage.

"Shush," she ordered, leaning her head against his chest once more. A jolt of excitement ran through her.

"My son will defend me against you."

"My lady, the sight of our son in your arms will have me kneeling at your feet. You need not worry about me teasing you in the future."

Feeling happiness burst in her chest she smiled in the dark, content to fall asleep.

But alas, a relaxing night was not to be for her.

With a jolt she awoke to a hurried knocking upon their chamber door. Arthur sat up quickly, nearly knocking her over in his haste. Making sure that he had not bowled over his wife he cursed lightly under his breath before heaving himself out of bed.

"Sire?"

The sound of Merlin's voice caused her to lift the blankets nearly to her chin. If it had been one of her ladies her haste might have been unwarranted. But another man? No one else was to see her simply in her nightdress.

"What?"

Arthur's tone was harsh, but she didn't fault him for it; the way that the boy had been knocking was as if the castle was on fire.

She could see the urgency in the manservant's face by the light of the candle that he held. He looked as if he had just jumped out of bed and, estimating the time, he probably had.

"Did you realize what your ridiculousness could have done to my wife? Do you not remember her condition?"

The boy's face colored.

"Arthur...I'm sorry, really.."

"It is fine," she interceded, prompting the two to look at her, as if remembering that she was still there.

Merlin cast his eyes away from her, thankfully remembering her state of dress.

"I'm fine," she insisted, keeping eye contact with her husband until he turned away, secure in the fact that she and his child were not harmed from the surprise.

"Your father requests your presences, along with your wife's, in his presence chamber," the young man explained.

"It's urgent."

Arthur gave him a nod before sending him off to retrieve his coat. With the boy gone from the room, Gwen climbed off of the bed and slipped into her dressing gown, which she had left across her bride-gift bench earlier in the evening.

Slipping into the pair of goat-skin slippers that Batilda normally left out for her in the event that she needed to use the privy, she went to join Arthur at the door. By then he already had his brown coat about him, a serious look apparent in his eyes.

She, too, was rather nervous at what the king wished of them, especially at this time of night.

Stepping past the young man the two made their way through Arthur's dimly lit chambers, emerging into the torch-lit hall a moment later. She grabbed onto his hand as they strode down the corridor, giving it a small squeeze. He gave her a quick, grateful look before continuing to lead her to his father's chambers.

The guard posted at the door allowed them into the king's chambers without a word, which did little to allay her fears of what awaited them.

Uther was sitting before the newly-stoked fire, clad in his dressing gown, while an unkempt man sat before him upon a stool.

The first thing that struck Gwen was that the man was allowed to sit in the king's presence as, judging by his coarse and dirty clothes, he was no more than a peasant.

Yet as the man turned around to face them and met her eyes, her assessment faltered.

There was something about him...

"Guinevere?"

His voice was different than it had been, deepened with maturity. Yet his eyes, so like their father's, gave him away.

"Elyan!"

Forgetting propriety she launched herself at her brother.

She clutched him as tightly as she could, unable to believe that he was really alive and in the same room as her. To her glee he held her just as tightly.

Without having realized it tears began to stream from her eyes.

"What...how?" she questioned, finally breaking away from him enough to asses him.

He looked so _different_.

Puberty along with whatever hardships he had faced since she had last saw him had aged him. Yet somewhere, beneath the layers of dirt and weariness, the brother she remembered was still there.

He gently took her face into his hands, looking her over just as frantically as she was to him.

She drank him in as she committed to memory his features, afraid that he would simply fade away and that she would find that she had been dreaming the entire confrontation.

A man stood in the place of the young brother that had rode form Cameliard's that fateful morning with her father.

As she assessed him she took in the curve of his chin, so like her own, along with the smile and nose that they shared from the Lady Anice.

It wasn't possible that he was still alive.

A soft touch upon her shoulder reminded her that there were others in the room.

Quickly she looked up to see that Arthur had placed his hand upon her, a cloth handkerchief in his hand.

She murmured her thanks before dabbing at her face with the cloth before moving onto the tear tracks on her brother's face. She ignored his protest and only stood once she had finished.

"Elyan," she began, thrilling in being able to say his name again without the morose memories that the word usually brought up, "I see that you have already been introduced to the king."

She straightened, clearing her throat.

"May I introduce you to my husband, Prince Arthur, heir to Camelot."

Elyan moved to bow yet the prince brushed off his formality. Instead he embraced him, clearly surprising the newly arrived noble.

But when Arthur stepped back, she found her brother smiling.

"Kin do not need to carry on with such formality," he explained, gesturing his brother-in-law to his seat. A quick glance at the king's squire sent the boy running for another chair. Arthur gently steered his wife into it before placing both hands upon her shoulders.

"I still can't... You were dead," she insisted, glancing to the king and then to her brother to affirm her story. It still felt like she was dreaming.

Uther shifted forward in his chair, resting his chin upon his hand as he watched the two.

"Your brother has told me the remarkable story of his survival, dear; let him tell you."

Reaching across to grab her sibling's hand, she waited for him to begin.

"There isn't a day that goes by in which I do not relive that battle," he spoke, squeezing his sister's hands. "I can still see them, running out of the woods. We had been told that a renegade band had come over the border, but the men wore Cenred's arms.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"The blood... I had seen skirmishes, but nothing like this. They gutted my father's men as if they were simply pigs at slaughter time. He fought them off as best as he could but there were far too many."

He seemed to reluctantly open his eyes once more, focusing them in on his sister, who was hanging on his every word.

"I will spare you anymore of what I saw that day, my dear Gwen. I do not wish for you to have nightmares of what I have seen.

I tried to fight off the attackers as best as I could, but a boy of twelve could do little in the face of trained men. It came to a point where the men corralled the survivors into one group in order to execute us as one. I can't describe what I had felt then. Relief, almost? I was so tired, my leg had been slashed open, my father dead...Death would have been a relief. Yet the captain of the guard stopped the band before they had a chance to behead the first of Father's men. Apparently there had been a fire in Cenred's slaves' quarters the previous week, and it was decided that those captured would substitute for the dead workers.

I was almost mad that I had been denied death, yet through the passing weeks I began to grow thankful for having another chance at life. I was stationed in the citadel's forge, where I was charged due to my age to help stoke the great fires for the smiths. These men, the majority at least, were serfs of Cenred and were slightly above my position. Most flaunted it, but the occasional smith had some pity upon me. One of them..."

He shook his head.

"The poor man is dead, but he had taken the time to apprentice me to his craft. I was taught how to first forge metal into household objects until, in secret, he taught me how to create swords. He was often in such demand from the royal court that he was behind on armory orders. It was in this way that he would be able to catch up, while teaching me in the process. No one had to know that I was truly doing the work.

The smith turned into something of a father to me. I was content to live this new life, so different than what I had planned for myself, under his tutelage.

It was about...four days ago.

When he died.

The captain of the guard- the same that had spared us from a quick death years before- had dropped by unexpectedly to inquire upon a sword he had commissioned. He was outraged as seeing myself, a slave and former knight-hopeful, constructing a weapon. In that moment I did not fear for myself as much as I did for the smith. The two had heated words before the captain unsheathed his sword. I stood frozen, watching the two, as the smith backed up and knocked over the candle that had been near his desk. In that moment, that the smith turned to see the far wall of his forge begin to burn, the captain stabbed him.

I think, perhaps that because I saw him as my father, it was almost like relieving my biological father's death. Except that this time I wasn't a frightened boy.

Without thinking about it I nearly gutted the man and took off with the bloodied sword in my hand into the night. The fire had started a commotion but, by slipping out the back, I was able to avoid being spotted.

I saddled the smith's old steed and before I knew it I was flying into the woods with Cenred's prison at my back."

Gwen, having found that she had gripped the handkerchief rather tightly, massaged some feeling back into her hands after his tale.

"Did you return to Cameliard before coming here?" she asked, finding herself still reeling at what he had told her.

He nodded.

"Briefly, to inquire after you. I had never heard of Cenred's men taking over the estate, so I assumed that you were safe."

A brief smile broke across his face.

"And what joy I felt when I was told that not only was my sister alive, but married to the Prince of Camelot."

He reached over to squeeze her hand.

"You must realize how proud Mother and Father would have been."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak lest she cry.

"Then I rode straight to here, where his most Gracious Majesty allowed me to tell my tale."

The king stood from his chair, prompting the siblings to stand as well.

"It is a miracle and one that shall not be forgotten. But the hour is growing late, and I must advise you all to return to bed."

He nodded to his page who opened the door to the corridor for them.

"A room will be prepared for you, Lord Leodegrance," Uther explained, which caused a slight chill to run down Gwen's back at hearing her father's title used.

She clutched onto her brother's hand, unwilling to allow him to leave her again.

"He'll be there in the morning, Gwen," Arthur insisted, speaking quietly to her as he took up her other hand.

With a reassuring look from her brother, she followed her husband in the opposite direction.

Into the early hours of the morning she remained awake, trying to process what had happened. Even her husband's snoring, which she had often teased him about, was not enough to distract her.

Yet two things she was certain of: her brother was alive, and she couldn't remember ever being more happy.

0o0o0o

The crisp, autumn air had brought a bit of life into her cheeks as she trudged through the garden. Her newly knighted brother walked beside her with her hand tucked into his arm. It had only been three days since his arrival and she had spent nearly every minute of it with him.

There had been so much to talk about that the two hardly knew where to begin. She didn't want to trouble him with speaking of what he had faced, nor did he volunteer to after that first night, so most of the chatter rested upon her. She told him of her time growing up in Camelot, her marriage, and what was most recent in her life. Their talk then moved onto their shared childhood with their father.

The king himself had knighted Elyan the previous day in front of the entire court to signify the importance of the princess' brother. By then he had been washed down, clothed to befit his station, and given his father's arms to wear upon his tunic.

There was the problem with his estate, however.

As Gwen had been thought to be the only living heir, it had gone to her which had then gone to the king through her marriage. If, perhaps, it had been an humble estate the king might have gifted it back to him. Yet Cameliard was something of worth, and wasn't an estate one flung around at whim. It was with this in mind that Uther provided Elyan with a stipend for his knighthood, along with the position he held as a lord. Uther had spoken to her brother, which Elyan had alerted her, of finding a noble with no heirs to declare Elyan as the next receiver. She knew that not many noble families would have done such a thing for just any man, but the future queen's brother was something entirely different.

She had recommended Lord Edgar, who's estate they normally stopped at during Progress, as he was without children. Edgar had graciously accepted Elyan as his heir, provided that he care for the Lady Edgar if she outlived him.

Content in knowing that her brother's future was secure, she allowed herself to think once more of her child.

He would have an uncle to watch over him and help instruct him, along with his father.

After a particularly cold gust of wind Elyan looked down upon his sister, pausing in their third circuit about the garden.

"Perhaps I should return you to your ladies," he suggested, watching as she pulled a face.

Arthur had banned her from riding, so walking was the only physical exertion that she was allowed.

Yet it was growing rather chilly and she didn't wish to grow too cold lest she somehow damage her baby.

They returned to the citadel, talking the entire way until she was handed off to Batilda in her presence chamber.

The older woman was chattering on about the sheets for the royal when Gwen was distracted by a sudden back cramp. She had experienced one or two while out walking, but had thought it had just been from her pace. Gripping onto the back of a nearby chair she bent harshly at the waist as a pain like none she had ever felt shot through her stomach. Next she felt something warm running down the inside of her leg. Instantly a warm blush spread across her face and neck. What was that? It couldn't be urine, could it? Thinking that she would feel such a leak she nonchalantly drew back her skirts.

Her heart froze.

Blood was currently sliding down her leg, staining her alabaster stockings with its trail. Her mouth opened, a scream frozen on her lips.

No, no!

Batilda turned, having not gotten a response for her former charge, and paled.

"My lady!"

Instantly the former nurse had her arms around the princess, steering her toward a nearby chaise. Elsewhere in the room her three other ladies clustered about her. Gwen's eyes would not, _could__not_, move from the deep red trail. Faintly she heard Batilda call to Catherine to run to the physician. Another cramp seized her, causing her to cry out. She clutched at her sides, feeling tears cloud her view.

Her chest heaved as she sobbed, the floodgates of her eyes opening.

"No!" she wailed, continuing her mantra as the blood continued to trickle.

Gaius, to his credit, hurried as fast as his old limbs could carry him to the princess' aid. Yet by the time he arrived it was over: Gwen was being rocked by Batilda as she stared at the blood trail.

0o0o0

Servants milled in and out of her room, some filling the large bathing tub in her dressing chambers while others removed her ruined clothing. Numbly she reclined in her night robe, only moving when prompted to. Even though she had seen the maids fill her bath with steaming water, she did not feel the warmth of the liquid as Batilda helped her to bathe. The woman had exiled the ladies-in-waiting from the princess' bath which they had not protested, surprised at the situation as Gwen was. She had dried her tears not long after Gaius had arrived but, at the sight of liquid tinting red after she stepped inside it, she began to sob once more.

Lucky is what she had been, according to the physician. Lucky that the babe was not fully formed and that all that had left her womb had been blood. Some women had no choice but to birth half formed, dead babies farther into their pregnancies. Lucky? She didn't see herself that way even after his attempt at soothing her.

Clean and dressed in a warm nightdress she was tucked into bed, much like the child she had once been, by a soothing Batilda. Faintly she heard speaking around her. Arthur and Elyan's names were thrown around often, with the occasional mention of the king. Panic seized her heart as she rolled onto her side, away from the door.

How was she going to face everyone? The court must know of her shame by now.

The servants had long exited by now leaving only Batilda, the princess, and Gaius. The physician was speaking in hushed tones to her former nurse, and Gwen did not bother to try to decipher what they were speaking of. She knew: her child was gone.

Gaius left, yet the door did not shut behind him.

"Sire, the princess..."

"Leave."

Gwen's eyes widened at the sound of her husband's voice. It wasn't the same tone that she had become used to when they whispered together at night. It was the voice of a prince, speaking to an inferior.

The chamber door closed behind her maid, leaving the couple alone.

Guinevere felt her heart beat a furious pattern against her breast as she waited for Arthur to speak. Already tears began to form at the corner of her eyes as she waited for him to berate her. But how could she defend herself? She didn't even know what she had done wrong to cause the miscarriage.

The mattress depressed under his weight as he took up a spot by her feet. She refused to look at him, and instead focused on a crack in the stone wall. Silence passed between them for what seemed like ages until she finally spoke.

"If you are going to scold me, just please do it now," she requested, her tone wavering with pent up tears.

His hand carefully peeled back the layers of blankets covering her shaking frame before latching gently onto her shoulder. He moved her into a sitting position despite her protests. What he did next left her shocked: he held her. She wrapped her arms around his muscular frame, sobbing openly then for the life that had been lost.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, taking in his comforting scent as she drenched his tunic with her tears.

His head rested on her curls as she cried, feeling all of the pent up stress of her entire short pregnancy bubble upward.

Her scalp was feeling increasingly damp, prompting her to glance up.

Silent tears streamed from her husband's eyes as he held her, rubbing her back with his spare hand.

She looked up in wonder, prompting him to raise his head fully. Through her own blurry vision she reached up a shaking hand to wipe the tracks from his cheeks. She had only seen him shed tears once, and that had been shortly after Igraine's death. He buried his head into her neck as the two clung to each other, as if nothing else in the world mattered.

It was then that she realized her husband truly loved her.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: I've been very happy with the reception that I've gotten from the last chapter. Thank you all for sticking through that with me.

And to those that have shared their feelings and stories about the event of the last chapter...thank you. It was touching that you chose to share them with me.

And for later in the chapter...Welfed is Welsh for 'velvet'.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

Carefully Gwen placed a gathering of the last flowers of the season upon the cold stone effigy. She pressed three fingers to her lips before resting them upon the check of the stone figure. With less grace than was expected of her, she found herself collapsing in a heap of skirts and fabric beside the tomb. What would Igraine say, to see her this shamed?

The queen that she had looked up to had never lost a child, despite only having two children. The babes that she had birthed had been healthy and lived into adulthood. Her first child had been a son, which had made her even more loved and respected.

Guinevere couldn't see herself carrying that blessed woman's mantle having failed already.

She wrapped her arms about her middle, knowing that the life that had been residing there three weeks earlier was gone, and closed her eyes.

Three weeks.

It seemed liked yesterday, truly.

She had been allowed another day to heal, both physically and emotionally, before returning to court. There she had endured pitiful looks and barely hidden sneers. There was no official announcement of what had happened yet it was clear to everyone what happened to her child.

Even the king, her one-time guardian, bestowed upon her looks of pity. Yet beneath his sympathy lay the unspoken question: '_What __did __you __do __to __kill t__he __baby?'_

The only good thing that had come out of the tragedy was that she herself was unharmed, at least physically. It could have been much worse, Batilda had reminded her, as she could have actually had to pass the dead child through the birth canal. It had done little to cheer her.

On the orders of Gaius both she and Arthur refrained from spending their nights in their usual way. At the physician's recommendation she was to abstain for at least two weeks, in order to allow herself to settle back in. There was no tearing or such in her lower region as it had simply been blood that had leaked from her. But she figured her long time friend was concerned about her mental capacity to handle such intimacy.

Arthur had been understanding and had not pushed her, despite it being past the time that Gaius had requested. Instead he had been content to sleep beside her, brushing his hand along her head to lull her to sleep the first few nights after the incident. She had found herself sleeping much longer than usual which to her relief Batilda allowed. She forgot, sometimes, that the elderly woman was no longer in charge of her well being. If anything Arthur would be the one to dictate her life where Batilda had left off.

She hated this feeling of being tired all of the time. Despite it being the last few days that one could walk about outside comfortably in increasingly colder weather, she didn't wish to budge from the bench below her bedroom window most days.

She hadn't expected to have had such a reaction. She knew that most women became distraught after miscarriages yet she hadn't even entertained the idea before. The woman had truly believed that her baby would survive.

Gwen wiped at her face, stemming back her tears.

There would be other children, she knew, but there would be no getting back this child.

And Arthur.

She exhaled harshly before toying with the edge of her hem.

She had thought that he had the feelings for her that one had for a childhood friend, which may have graduated into lust overtime.

But loving her?

Even if he did not say it, his actions spoke louder than any words he could say.

Any other man could have easily scolded her for having let their baby die, even though she knew not how it had happened. Yet instead he had held her, allowing his tears to mingle with hers.

And what did she think of that?

She wasn't sure herself.

True, there was a warm fluttering in her stomach whenever he looked at her. She grew rather jealous when she saw other women watching him, wanting him. But that was natural, right? To feel protective of what was hers?

He was hers, after all.

Carefully she stood before brushing off her skirts. She wiped at her eyes, cleared her throat, and gave one last look of farewell to the tomb. The princess stepped into the dimly lit corridor beyond the tomb before mounting the stone steps that would lead to the side hall off of the chapel. As she looked up, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sun-lit corridor, she caught sight of the edge of Gaius' robe as he turned the far corner.

For a moment she made to follow him.

She had often helped him in her youth and as of late had had less time to assist him.

Her duties as wife and first lady of the castle kept her far busier than she wished.

She halted her steps, listening as the physician's steps began to drift away.

There was too much for her to do this afternoon than visit with Gaius.

Gwen turned in the other direction from her old friend toward her chambers. She stepped into her sitting room, taking notice of the cluster of her women chattering there. A quick nod toward the door had all four women curtseying before her and leaving her in silence.

Only when they left did she allow herself to sigh.

She hadn't talked to any of them about what had happened, except for Batilda. Although they knew -everyone knew- they were kind enough to not bring the incident up.

Settling herself before the polished table at the center of the room, she pulled forward a stack of parchment that had been delivered to her earlier that morning. The Court Treasurer submitted a detailed account of the spending of the Crown each month to her as it was her job, as Lady, to look over the citadel's accounts. She was reminded each time she poured over the numbers that Igraine's decision to stress the importance of mathematics lessons had been a blessed one.

She reached blindly for her quill and moved to dip it into the ink well beside it. Frowning she caught the sound of the tip scraping against the empty well. When had that run out?

She bit her lip, remembering quite well then that she had finished the ink with her last letter to Gore.

Grumbling to herself she stood, annoyed with already being disturbed, and padded across the room to the door leading to Arthur's sitting room. If anything he would have a well, along with a spare somewhere in his room. As his father's heir he often handled quite a bit of paperwork when the king was unable to; he would need to have extra supplies.

Having heard no movement in the next room over she didn't bother knocking upon the door.

"Arthur."

He looked up in surprise, having been seated before his own table as she had been, at her intrusion. A stack of papers was pushed off to the side, clearly forgotten in that moment.

A smile settled upon his lips.

"Don't let that old woman see you, or she'll be scolding you about your manners. You've been taking after Merlin."

She rolled her eyes, feeling a smile come to her face as he teased her for bargining in.

"Well, you had best hope that Batilda never hears you refer to her as 'old'. She'll make your life quite miserable."

He rolled his eyes before beckoning her closer.

"And what is it that I can do for you?" he inquired, having seen the look of expectation on her features.

She closed the door behind her absentmindedly, walking until she was just before his chair.

"I would like to borrow an ink well from you," she asked, resting her hand on the chair on the left of his.

"I want to finish checking over the ledgers."

He nodded and gestured toward the well beside his fallen quill.

"You'll get more use out of it than I will."

She glanced quickly at the half formed letter resting atop the pile of discarded parchment.

"I can help you if-"

She leaned over him as she spoke, reaching for the ink jar, yet never made it to her target.

With an 'whoosh' of air she found herself haphazardly laying in Arthur's lap.

For a moment she thought that she might have tripped over herself and fallen into him, which would be terribly embarrassing.

Yet by the way that his arms were wrapped around her back and the sly grin upon his lips she knew that he had been the cause of her tumble.

She went to playfully slap his chest as she tried to stand.

Yet as she moved to right herself he pulled her back.

"Arthur?"

His lips connected with hers, causing her to forget all about the papers and ink that had clouded her mind only moments before. Numbly she felt him adjust her position in his lap so that she straddled him. The only thing she could think about – concentrate upon- was his lips and the fire that was igniting.

But at the back of her mind a niggling of anxiety began to form. Her chest tightened, whether from her worry or lack of air as he kissed her.

She knew that it was wrong to deny her husband, but the thought of what they were to do next was slowly starting to cool her off as much as his kisses had ignited her. This could lead to a possible pregnancy which...

What if it ended in tears again?

Having been caught up in her thoughts she hadn't seen him untie his trousers. Yet his warm hands upon her stocking-clad thighs, where he was removing the garters and trying to pull aside her undergarments, awoke her to what was happening.

With a gasp she broke away from him, startling him enough to pause his actions.

His eyes were dark as he fought to catch his own breath, staring at her blankly as she stared back at him.

The two remained in silence for a beat more before he tried to resume their embrace.

"No."

The word, having never been spoken to him regarding this martial activity, startled him.

"What?"

She felt her face flush as she glanced away.

"I cannot."

Awkwardly she made to stand once more yet found herself tugged to his lap despite her efforts. She barely withheld a shiver of what she identified as desire at feeling his hardened length against the fabric of her inner thigh.

No: she had to keep a clear mind.

Her husband, far more knowledgeable about her body's reactions regarding him than she was, smirked at her small shiver.

"Are you worried about someone seeing?" he questioned, his tone low as his hands snaked up her legs once more.

"No one will come in; they know that I'm working."

Working, was it?

He kissed the side of her throat, right below her ear where he knew caused the most _interesting_ sounds to come from her.

She bit her lip in order to keep herself from making any of the mentioned noises.

"It's not that."

Even if she had been willing to do the marriage act, she still would have protested at being out in the open. It was Arthur's private chamber, but servants still went about in order to clean.

And it was daytime! Did he not realize that?

His head moved away from her neck as his mouth fell into a small 'o' of realization.

Finally...

"It's because we've never done this before, haven't we?" he questioned, not needing to explain the position they were currently in.

"You'll like it; don't worry."

She shook her head, feeling a blush creep up her neck.

His right hand drifted up under her skirts once more, brushing against the linen of her pantalets. She inhaled sharply through her teeth as his knuckle ghosted along the flesh just below the intimate curls through the fabric.

"It isn't that."

Hurriedly she made to stand, causing him to retrieve his hand, and took a few quick steps backward in order to create a gap between them.

She focused on fixing her garters as he laced his trousers back up with a sigh.

He raised his gaze to her, still not understanding why she had flatly told him 'no', and found the barely hidden anxiety in her eyes.

"Gwen..."

She fumbled with her hands, wringing them as he stood and approached her.

He enfolded them within his own, sword hardened ones.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, rubbing his thumb over the side of her fingers gently.

"I thought..."

She shook her head before clearing her throat.

"I just wish for a little more time. Please."

She glanced up at him, finding understanding in his features.

He nodded silently before gently patting her clasped hands.

He parted from her, returning a second later with the ink she requested.

Giving her husband a half-smile she took the jar before exiting the room, feeling that she had disappointed him once more.

0o0o0

It was nearly three days after her husband's thwarted attempt that she started to notice the strain that was forming.

He wouldn't outright comment on their lack of intimacy but it was clear in what he thought was hidden glances that he was missing their nights together. And it pained her to have to deny him.

Yet she couldn't get the image of blood on her hands from her mind...her pregnancy gone.

She threw herself into her duties instead and avoided him if at all possible.

Re-reading a letter that she had written to the head steward of Cameliard, she glanced up at the sound of the door to her sitting room opening. She had allowed her women to go off to get an early supper in anticipation of turning in early, which would allow them to have the night to themselves. She honestly couldn't stand the looks of barely hidden pity they were sending her anymore; it was all she could do to not call them out on it. She knew that they were concerned yet she wished to simply forget that the incident had ever happened.

Elyan had tactfully refrained from bringing up the subject whenever he came to see her. It had become a habit for the two to take their midday meal together if Arthur and the king were running about. It almost felt as if her brother had never left.

Her husband entered her sitting chamber, a small smile on his face as he approached her.

She forced a matching one to her own lips.

"My lord," she greeted, setting down her quill which she had been absentmindedly twirling in her hand.

He couldn't mean to retire now? True they had already shared supper with the king, but he often went to speak with his knights or finish up any leftover business for the day before going to bed.

He moved around the table to where she sat and, to her surprise, went to his knees.

Although endearing, the action made her feel rather flustered. A man with such a rank as Arthur had never done so to her before which made her feel awkward, but it was that _Arthur_ was doing it that made her feel even weirder. Husband kneeling before wife? Absurd.

He took her small hands into both of his, encasing them gently.

"I know that you have been troubled," he began, carefully speaking around the subject that had been on both of their minds.

"You're a good person, Gwen; its natural for you to feel this way. I think about-"

He paused before changing the track of his speech.

"I wish to bring the smile back to your face once more. Would you accept a gift from me?"

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as his lips split into a grin.

"A what?"

A sharp bark from the next room over had her halfway out of her chair.

Merlin popped in a moment later with a squirming mass in his hands. The pup wriggled in the young man's arms in order to view those in the room before emitting another high pitched cry.

"Oh!"

Instantly Gwen was approaching the servant and dog, her hand gliding over the smooth fur.

"He is magnificent!"

The pup nosed into her hand, licking her palm as she laughed.

"Let me hold him," she requested of Merlin who obliged her by passing the now increasing squirming animal to her, barely hiding a look of relief upon his features as being able to pass on his squirming burden.

She held him securely against her as her right hand, wrapped around his torso, rubbed his back gently.

"Is he truly for me?" she asked, spinning to see her husband a foot or two behind her.

Arthur smiled, brushing aside her hair as he watched her fawn over the animal.

"If you would like it," he answered, inwardly relieved to see an emotion other than grief upon her features.

She smiled brightly, leaning up on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you."

She returned to her chair, placing the pup in her lap.

"Does he have a name?" she asked, glancing up after she had finished scratching behind one of his ears.

Merlin shook his head, clearing his throat.

"The Master of the Kennel did not name any of the litter, Your Highness," he answered, twirling the twine that had been tied to the dog's leather collar.

"He was bred from a new damn that my father had ordered, sent all the way from Italy," Arthur elaborated, coming to stand before her once more. He petted the pup's soft head as he spoke.

"He's a bit different from the hounds of our court; smaller and slimmer. Faster. He'll be good for picking up small game if you choose to let him hunt."

She lifted the pup so that his large, brown eyes were looking into her own.

She had never before had a dog all to herself. There had been an elderly hound that had lived in the kitchens of Cameliard, keeping away any rodents or animals that had been attracted by the smell of the food. But that dog had never actually been hers. Many members of the court had dogs of their own, whether they be lady's lapdogs or men's hunting hounds. Why, Arthur had at least four he kept in the kennels to follow the hunt.

But this gray haired, yapping little hound would be ideal for her own personal dog.

"I'll keep him from the hunt," she announced, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "If he will be of small stature as you say, I do not wish for him to be crushed beneath the horses' hooves."

She tucked him into her arms once more.

"And he'll need a name."

She observed the animal, by now tired of the confines of her arms, and let him down onto the wooden floor.

Gwen managed to give him one last pat against his hair, soft as velvet, before he tore off across her sitting room bent on exploring.

"Welfed," she announced, liking the sound of it.

"That will be his name."

The pup paused, almost as if he had heard her talking about him, before nosing his way into the basket of wool that one of her ladies had forgotten to clear away.

She laughed as Merlin darted across the room, attempting to bring the dog away from the basket despite the animal already having a mouthful of the wool.

"Thank you, truly," she turned her head to Arthur, reaching for his hand.

She squeezed it gently, seeing a bit of relief in her husband's eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: I'm sorry that this took so long. With school I've been having a hard time to keep up. The next chapter will be poster not this Monday, but the one after. Thanks! And excuse this if it is a little weird, as I edited it myself quick.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

"Lady Grisella has been making eyes at your brother since he arrived, milady. Do you think that Lord Leodegrance has noticed? Why, she nearly fell over herself to offer him her handkerchief this morning!"

Gwen smiled and bit back a giggle at Eleanor's question as the younger woman braided the princess' hair.

She lifted her eyes to the mirror where, speaking to the lady's reflection, she answered.

"Elyan is...hesitant when it comes to the opposite gender," she replied in the nicest way that she could when speaking about her brother's inadequacies with women.

It was expected, as he had little time for females during his time in Cenred's lands. Suddenly her once secluded brother as at the forefront of a handful of lady's thoughts. Her brother was genuinely a handsome man now that he was cleaned and shaved from his tenure. Yet she knew that besides his features and his courteous behavior he would hold quite a bit of influence in the future as the uncle to the next king. Perhaps quite a few of the ladies mentioned where interested in her brother for what he was, yet there were just as many who were attracted by his future land and position.

A 'thud' from her bedchamber caused her to switch the track of her thoughts to her husband, who most likely had been the perpetrator of the noise.

Gwen still could feel that Arthur was upset with her despite him not outright saying anything. She was reminded of the previous spring when she and Merlin had helped Freya, which had earned her Arthur's disappointment. But he simply didn't understand. He, too, had been hurt by what had happened, but he had not been the one to actually hold the child within their body, only to have it wrenched away.

There was still the fact that he...loved her.

The very thought made her uncomfortable, as it called her own feelings toward him into question. She didn't wish for complications between them...wouldn't it be easier if they were simply friends? That way there was no chance for heartache for either of them.

A knock at the chamber door prompted the nearest lady, Catherine, to admit the prince.

Gwen turned upon her stool to face him as the ladies curtseyed.

He waved off the formality, urgency barely hidden in his tone.

"My father wishes to speak to me about a matter...You should go on to bed without me; I'm not entirely sure how long this will take."

Worry formed a crease in her brow.

"Is everything alright?" she questioned, moving to stand.

"Something has happened," he explained, unsure exactly of what. "A scouting group approached the gate around twenty minutes ago; it must have something to do with that."

He gave her a reassuring smile at her concern.

"Go to sleep, Gwen; I'll tell you what happened in the morning."

With that he left her to her ladies, calling out an order to Merlin to lay out his clothing for the next day.

"You're dismissed for the evening," she said to the gathered women once Eleanor helped to wrap her in her dressing gown.

"Good night."

She nodded as they curtsied before her, silent after their own answering 'good night's.

Gwen hid a smile; Eleanor and Catherine seemed to have been biting at the bit to discuss what her husband had been speaking about.

Exiting her dressing room to her bedchamber she settled herself before the fire.

It wasn't as if she could sleep knowing that something concerning the kingdom's safety was happening. Her wild imagination could already picture towns razed and people fleeing in terror. She wrapped the gown closer around herself to ward off the chill of her imaging and stared into the dancing flames.

"My lady?"

She glanced up at the question from the door leading to her sitting room.

Recognizing it to be Merlin she bade him enter after double checking to see that her nightdress was fully covered.

The serving boy entered the room a second later, standing a bit awkwardly in the doorway.

She grinned and gestured to the chair beside her.

"And it's Gwen, Merlin; I thought we had been over this?"

She had taken to having him call her by her first name, instead of his constant 'my lady' or 'your highness'.

After all, had she not committed treason with him? Having done such a thing together warranted at least a first-name basis.

His hesitant look transformed into one of ease as he stepped farther into the room. He took up the chair that she had gestured to after throwing another log upon the fire.

"Do you know what this is all about?" she inquired, trying to hide her disappointment as the young man shook his head.

"I saw the scouts come in before, but I know nothing more than what Arthur told you."

He stared down at his boots for a moment before shooting her a reassuring smile.

"He'll take care of it though, whatever it is."

She nodded, adjusting her hands upon her chair.

Silence hung between the two for a few moments as each stared into the fireplace.

"How are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

She hesitated, unsure of how to answer him.

He took her hesitance for outrage at such a personal question and quickly backtracked.

"Forgive me...I didn't mean..."

She shook her head, pressing a soft smile to her lips although she would have rather not with the subject of their talk.

"It's fine; you're concerned, thank you."

She stared down at her hands, unable to meet his expectant gaze.

"It's been better... I just..."

She shook her head.

"I'm not as upset as I was when it...first happened. I feel like I can go through my routines once more."

She shrugged and finally chanced a look at him.

"But please...let us talk of something more cheerful..."

He cleared his throat, searching for something happier than their current lives.

"Arthur took the largest flop off of his horse today. If you had seen it..."

He laughed, quickly joined by Gwen's light giggle.

"He deserved it though; he had just teased Sir Bors about some maneuver he made upon the jousting grounds the other day."

She smiled, reaching her hands forward to let them bask in the warmth of the fire.

"That is one of the best things about you, Merlin; you keep my husband in check. I fear if you did not help me in this he would be unable to fit his head through the door."

The servant made an exaggerated bow of his head to her.

"It is my pleasure, my lady," he answered cheekily, glad to hear her giggle in return.

Once she had sobered and returned her now toasty-warm hands to her lap she switched the track of the conversation.

"Have you hear from...her?"

He nodded, knowing exactly who she was talking about : Freya.

"I get letters now and then. The Lady has trained ravens that can carry messages; it's brilliant, really." He grinned, inching closer to the edge of his chair in his excitement.

"I've only gotten about three since we last saw her; ravens with messages strapped to their legs would cause some attention if they arrived too frequently."

He shrugged, feeling the tips of his ears warm as he thought of the druid girl.

"She is doing well there and has been accepted by The Lady. She's safe...that is all I can ask for."

He cleared his throat, obviously feeling uncomfortable expanding further on his thoughts of the girl.

Gwen tactfully avoided prodding him for more information, and instead switched the subject.

"Arthur told me that you requested time to visit with your mother. How is she fairing?"

The young man's earlier shyness melted away as he launched into an explanation of his mother along with the village that he had once called home. She listened attentively, interjecting with tales of her own childhood.

The fire was nearly down to the last bits of wood when Arthur returned.

He seemed surprised to find his wife and manservant in throes of laughter despite the late hour.

"And then-and then," Merlin continued, bent at the waist from his laughter. He had apparently not noticed that Arthur had returned.

"He said "True, but that isn't my cow!"

Gwen held a fist to her mouth in an unlady-like fashion to stifle her laughter, her eyes dancing with mirth as she took in Arthur's confused expression.

Merlin followed the woman's eye line to see the prince standing in the doorway, sleeping clothes in hand, and quickly stood.

"Sire."

Arthur removed his coat, draping it over Merlin's vacated chair, before running a hand through his hair.

"I thought I told you to go on to bed?" he asked of her, watching as she shrugged.

His question wasn't a serious inquiry as to why she defied his instruction; if anything, he was just curious as to what kept her awake.

"Since when have I listened to you?" she teased him, watching as he rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, Merlin has been kind enough to sit up with me."

She stood up from her chair, adjusted her robe, before crossing over to their bed.

"Is all well?" she inquired, fixing her pillow before glancing over at him.

His features hardened as he toyed with a loose thread upon the the sleeve of his tunic, unable to look at her for a moment.

"I'm going to have to ride off with the knight's shortly after dawn. There has been an... incident near our western borders. King Melwas hasn't been keeping an eye on his soldiers as well as he should; there has been raiding on towns near the border. We've intelligence that there will be another raid sometime this week."

He avoided his wife's look of apprehension as he instructed Merlin to be prepared to leave early that morning, nodded as the man bowed to the pair before leaving, before closing the door. He shucked his clothing off, pulling on his sleeping pants and tunic.

Gwen busied herself with undoing her robe and climbing into bed, keeping her eyes on the fabric. Even after nearly half a year of marriage she still found herself burning when she caught sight of his bare skin.

He climbed into bed beside her, surprising her by pulling her up against his chest swiftly.

He opened his mouth to tell her something yet she spoke before he had the chance.

"You'll take care, won't you?"

The question, so quiet and yet so full of anxiety, caused him to tuck her head underneath his chin in order to hold her closer.

She gratefully tightened her grip upon him as she buried her head into his soft tunic.

She had lost her father, her child; she couldn't imagine losing her husband and best friend too.

True she had seen Arthur go off to battle before. Compared to that, this morning's trip should be nothing.

Yet she couldn't prevent herself from picturing the band of knights meeting up with Melwas' rogue soldiers in an all out battle.

What would happen then?

Arthur was a fine warrior, perhaps the best out of all of his men, yet he was still a mortal man. It was entirely possible for him to be killed.

"It'll be alright," he reassured her, his hand sifting through her curls.

After some time she felt the difference in his breathing,having had her ear pressed against his chest, signaling that he had managed to fall asleep. She found that sleep evaded her that night, worried as she was about the man she was nearly entangled with.

It was her sleep heavy eyes that greeted him after he jolted awake from Merlin's 'wake-up knock' against the chamber door.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before reluctantly withdrawing from her and climbing out of bed.

She watched him for a moment before quickly throwing back the blankets and grabbing her discarded robe.

As Guinevere tied it tightly about herself she watched her husband stretch and then turn, a hand halfway through ruffling his hair, as he caught her looking.

"Aren't you going back to sleep?" he asked, frowning as she shook her head. She had not spoken that morning yet he didn't need for her to tell him that she hadn't slept; her eyes alone could do that.

He took her gently by the shoulder in an attempt to steer her back to the blankets.

"It will only be for a few days," he reassured her, faltering slightly as she ducked out of his grip. She stepped into her dressing chamber to emerge a moment later, her curls tied back with a green silk ribbon.

"Let me help you, please," she requested, her brown eyes meeting his blue.

He hesitated, before nodding.

It wasn't as if he didn't appreciate her help. Rather, he was glad to spend more time with her before he had to leave. But it was her blood-shot eyes and air of weariness that had kept him from acquiescing to her for a second.

But who was he kidding? He would permit her anything.

Gwen followed her husband into his sitting room where Merlin was already laying out a light meal. He gave the princess a half smile, himself looking rather tired, before ducking out of the room.

As he broke his fast she ventured into his dressing chambers to gather up the necessary clothing. Having never had a reason to go through her husband's clothes before it took her a few moments to work out where everything was. After gathering a quick understanding of where everything was she began to pull out the appropriate items.

Shouldering open the door she stepped back into his sitting room, the clothes folded neatly in her arms, to find Arthur wiping his face dry upon a linen.

Quietly she set out upon the freshly cleared table one of her husband's scarlet gambeson, a warm looking red tunic, and a new pair of trousers.

She quirked an eyebrow at the sword belt hanging haphazardly from the chest of drawers in the far corner. His scarlet cloak, with the Pendragon crest sewn into the shoulder, was no better off draped across the back of one of the finely carved chairs by the fireplace.

"You should take better care of your clothing ," she teased, handing off the trousers and tunic to her husband as he strode off to change.

"Instead of leaving it lying all over the place."

He rolled his eyes in jest.

"If Merlin did his job correctly..."

The young man opened his mouth to retort but the princess had already begun to answer.

"It isn't Merlin's fault that you leave your clothing in the oddest of places."

To accentuate her point she moved to the mentioned chest of drawers, fishing out a sock from where it had been peeping out behind the furniture.

Her husband gave her a sarcastic laugh while Merlin grinned in triumph.

He emerged dressed a minute or two later, finishing tying his gambeson as he approached Merlin. The servant helped the prince pull the chainmail over his head

Gwen watched as the young man helped Arthur into the rest of his armor. She found her heart thudding harder with each piece being attached. One less piece meant one less second she had with him...

As Merlin went to attach the gauntlets to her husband's armor, she piped up.

"I'll do it."

Both men glanced up from the metal pieces, a little surprised at her outburst.

"My lady," Merlin nodded to her, relinquishing the piece to her.

Not wanting to intrude on their goodbye the servant gestured to the door.

"I'll just, er, go prepare the horses..."

She remained quiet until she heard the click of the door, signaling that Merlin had indeed left.

Gwen approached him, taking his offered arm and buckling the right gauntlet on.

She had seen him do it countless times through the year, in addition to 'helping' her father when she had been a child. A wistful smile stole its way to her lips when she thought about Sir Thomas. She had simply, at such a young age, straightened the buckle for him on his cloak and had been praised for helping prepare him.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, going to collect his cloak for him.

It wouldn't do to reminiscence about the dead at a time like this.

His hands stalled hers as she went to clasp it about his neck.

She picked up her head, having not been able to meet his eyes for fear that he would see the tears pooling there.

Without warning his lips descended upon hers.

She threw her arms about his shoulders, not minding the metal covering at all, and tried to get as close as possible to him.

After what seemed like hours, but in reality mere minutes, her husband broke their embrace.

Faintly she could hear men talking in the courtyard below and the clacking of horse hooves against the stone pavement.

Was it really time for him to leave?

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised her, pressing one more kiss to her lips before reluctantly moving toward the door.

She quickly spun to face him once more.

"Arthur-"

He paused, his hand on the door knob.

"When...when you return. We'll try again."

She needn't explain what she was referring to; it was clear enough to him that she was speaking of their child situation.

He nodded, sparing her a fleeting smile, before leaving her.

She let out a shaky breath, feeling as if one half of herself was missing.

0o0o0

What was supposed to be a few days turned into a week.

And then two.

November had reached them by the time word came that the situation on the border was under control. From what she had seen of the reports, which she had 'borrowed' from the king, Arthur and his men had waited on a tip for Melwas' soldiers to return. Yet the tip turned out to be false, and the men were forced to wait nearly a week and a half for the men to show.

She had instantly questioned the young solider who had returned ahead of the larger party as to whether there had been any causalities. She knew that if the prince had died she would have heard about it the second the scout set foot into the citadel. But she needed to actually hear the assurance that he was alive to believe it.

Elyan had been attempting to calm her throughout her husband's absence yet there was only so hunting parties, court dances, and walks around the garden that she could take. She knew, despite him not saying anything, that her brother was a little sour that he had not accompanied Arthur and his men. Her husband thought that he was not yet ready, which Gwen agreed with, to face Melwas' men with such little formal training.

She had even thrown herself into preparing for the birth of one of the court ladies' children. Lady Helga had been near to bursting when the men had set out two weeks earlier. It had been nearly into the first week that they had been gone that the woman had gone into labor. Gwen had waited eagerly outside the lady's chambers among the other courtiers, keeping the woman's husband company. Beatrice and Batilda, having had their own children, had gone on into the birthing room to help.

Gwen had been in high spirits that afternoon, picturing the crowd that would wait outside her own chambers for word of the next royal heir.

And then the child had been delivered dead.

Had she had her way she would have sprinted from the scene but, due to her position, she was obligated to offer her condolences to the parents. Afterward she had retreated to her bedchamber, banishing her ladies and brother, to the sanctuary of her empty bed. None save for little Welfed, who had no perception of her sorrow, were permitted into her chambers that day.

She hadn't actually seen the child, but she had caught sight of the wrapped bundle that Gaius had been handed by the midwife.

It had reminded her too much of the bloodstained rags that had been brought out of her own room.

She couldn't do it...not yet. Arthur would have to understand.

A scout arrived in the early morning not too long after the arrival of the last to alert the king that the men were mere hours away. Preparations instantly were made for a feast to welcome home the kingdom's men that evening, much to the consternation of the cooking staff. The hubbub of her husband's impending return slowly helped to extinguish the melancholia that she had been feeling. With a legitimate smile upon her face she asked her ladies to help her dress into one of her latest gowns. The chemise was made of a dark blue with a printed pattern, which was then half covered with an ice blue, velvet surcoat. She herself tied the last ribbons on the surcoat in an effort to speed her preparations; her husband could be arriving at any moment.

Eagerly, like a child awaiting a sweet, she perched herself upon her bridal gift to observe the courtyard below. It was around eleven that morning that she saw the Pendragon banner appear in the distance.

"They're almost here!" she announced, startling Catherine enough to drop her embroidery.

Welfed yapped in excitement simply because his mistress was running about.

After pausing to pat him on the head she nearly raced through her series of rooms to the corridor.

At the last moment she remembered to grab a cloak to ward off the growing chill in the air, backtracking to her chamber before continuing her track.

Already excited whispers were being flung about the halls as word spread that the squad of men was returning. She met the king at the bottom of the stone steps leading to the courtyard, gladly taking his offered arm.

She missed the amused look that the king gave at her expectant expression, too focused on the gates leading to the courtyard. Even from her position at the steps she could hear the clattering of horses coming up through the lower town. A few moments later the horsemen emerged to the polite applause of the nobles and servants gathered there.

Gwen felt as if a weight had been lifted off her chest as he gaze locked onto the rider at the front of the group, her husband.

He dismounted his charger, handed the reins to a waiting page, and approached the steps.

The prince knelt before his father who quickly bent to raise him. After embracing the king, Arthur turned his attention to the woman beside him.

Not waiting for him to make the first move, she nearly launched herself at him.

There was a collective chuckle among the crowd at her brash actions, yet she could care less about them.

All that mattered was that she felt as if a part of her had returned.

It both frightened and excited her.

0o0o0o0

Later that evening, as they both prepared for the feast held in the knights' honor, Gwen updated him on what he had missed.

"We received a letter from Morgana while you were gone," she said, passing him a clean rag so that he could scrub the grime of the road off of his face. She had dismissed Merlin to prepare for the evening, seeing the gratefulness in the tired man's eyes, leaving the two alone.

"She is nearly ready to birth her babe."

He nodded, emerging much cleaner from behind the now damp rag.

"Remind me to ask the bishop to include her in tomorrow's prayers," he added, watching as she nodded.

"She wishes for us to be godparents. I have yet to write her back because I wished to consult you on a gift for our nephew. Or niece."

He pondered the idea as he shucked his tunic off.

"We'll take a visit to the treasury tomorrow."

She picked up the discarded tunic, rolled her eyes at his actions, and folded it upon his table.

"This was what I was talking about with you clothing-"

Before she knew what was happening she found herself on her back on the very table she had just been folding the shirt upon.

He was instantly between her legs, leaning over her and kissing her fully.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, faltering slightly as she realized where this was going.

"I've missed you," he murmured, peppering kissed down her jaw.

"Arthur..."

He returned his lips to hers as his hand began to draw up her skirt.

With one well aimed heave she nearly threw him off of her.

He staggered back for a moment, confusion written across his face.

"I thought-"

"No."

She dusted off her skirt as she slid off of the table, avoiding his gaze.

"I changed my mind."

He stared at her for a moment, as if struck dumb.

"I understand that what you went through- what we both went through- was a harrowing experience, but we have to start moving on, Gwen. We...we need a son. And I thought..."

He dragged a hand through his hair, trying not to become frustrated.

"I thought you wanted a family? You were so excited last time."

She bit her lip, feeling the skin close to breaking, before turning away from him.

"Just knock on my door when you're ready to go to the hall," she said, ducking out before he could say another word.

Arthur watched her go, confusion and pain forming a knot in his chest.

0o0o0

She knew her husband was right, but she just couldn't admit it to him.

Instead she sat stiff beside him during the feast, not daring to dance with any other man as he had not asked her first. She numbly clapped when prompted during the king's speech about the bravery of Camelot's knights in the defeat of the border invaders, even though she wasn't exactly sure of what Uther said.

Arthur, for his part, kept Merlin refilling his goblet the entire night.

The only time that she looked up from her plate besides her former guardian's speech was when he bid the court 'goodnight'. Gwen had seen the tax that the excitement of the day had taken on the king and had, wisely, not mentioned it in public. All it took was one misheard word to create a rumor of the king 's health in peril.

As soon as his father left Arthur went to mill around the room, greeting courtiers and checking up on his knights.

No one made an effort to speak to her out of her ladies, having seen her reaction when she had walked form her husband's room earlier. It was Merlin, however, that attempted to see if she was alright.

As he leaned over to refill her goblet he snuck her a look.

"Gwen?"

She plastered a small smile onto her lips, although the gesture did not meet her eyes.

"I'm fine," she insisted, taking a sip from the goblet after he had finished.

She glanced down at the liquid, speaking to it instead of him.

"Thank you, really."

A sharp, feminine laugh caught her attention. She raised her head to find the source of the noise: Lady Grisella.

Her heart leaped into her throat when she realized who the lady was laughing with.

The young woman had a dainty hand upon the prince's arm, as if using him to hold herself up from her laughter.

Yet Gwen could see that calculating look in the buxom woman's eyes even from the dais.

Would she ever cease to worry about her position as the only woman in Arthur's life?

To her embarrassment Arthur did nothing to discourage the lady's liberty with his person. Instead he laughed at her comment, downing the rest of his goblet afterward.

Without think she stood from her chair.

Instantly her ladies stopped what they were doing and rose from the bench that they had been stationed at to follow the princess as she strode through the crowd.

A hush fell as the women left the room.

Gwen pushed past her ladies once they reached her destination and tried to open the door to her receiving chambers as calmly as possible, as if she had not just stormed out of a crowded banquet hall. Her hands shook slightly, both from her anger and her embarrassment, as she strode through the series of rooms to her shared bedchamber.

"If you would help me undress, ladies," she requested, trying to keep her tone calm. Her women eyed her nervously before bustling about to do what their mistress requested of them.

"Lamb..."

She bit her lip, fighting against the urge to fall into tears into her ex-nurse's arms. She was a woman now, and such behavior was only fitting for a child.

She didn't have the chance to answer Batilda as the she heard the door to her receiving room fly open and smack against the stone wall. She fought to keep her resolve, wincing slightly as the noise of the door to the next chamber, her sitting room, met its fate against the stone.

Closer.

Her husband barged into their bedchamber, wobbling slightly as he tried to keep his balance. Merlin hurried behind him, a fretful expression on his face.

"Leave," her husband ordered, his eyes flashing to the assorted women. Flustered, the three youngest ones dropped into quick curtsies before leaving as asked. Batilda hesitated, floundered under Arthur's stare, and reluctantly left.

"Arthur-"

"You too," he instructed his manservant who had a hand out, as if about to drag his master away from his wife.

Merlin shot Gwen a sympathetic look over the prince's shoulder before leaving as asked.

Gwen busied herself with removing the diamonds that had been hooked into her ears as Arthur simmered.

"What gave you the idea that you could just walk out in such a fashion?" he asked her, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed onto the side table to right himself, still feeling the effects of the wine that he had drank.

She calmly placed her earrings on the window ledge before turning to him, her features clearly annoyed.

"Maybe it was Lady Grisella's breasts pushing themselves into your face," she countered, sarcasm dripping from her tone. She gently took out the jeweled comb that had held her curls back before placing the piece beside the earrings.

"What?" came his indignant response.

"You know exactly what I mean," she bit back, turning to stride right up to him. Despite their height difference she felt rather fierce.

"Do you realize that there are a dozen or more girls of the court just waiting for you to turn away from me? That these girls would jump into your bed- _our__bed_- the first chance you gave them? That it kills me for you to even talk to them?"

She felt her eyes water, partly from frustration, as she continued her tirade.

"I'm sorry, truly, that I keep denying you. I don't want to upset you."

"Then why do you keep running from me, Gwen?" he retorted, clarity shining through his eyes through his tipsiness. "You keep saying these things yet you aren't acting on them. And you think that I don't notice these girls? What they are trying to do? Tell me...have I spent one night away from your bed while I've been under the same roof as you?"

Without warning she raised her small hands to shove against his chest.

She ignored his first question, and instead focused on the second.

"That doesn't mean you might think about it from time to time. It must have crossed your mind. Hasn't it?"

He grabbed her wrists as she moved to shove him again.

"You're going too far," he warned, although she quickly began to talk over him.

Feeling her voice raise, and not caring, she continued.

"You would do it...sleep with one of them if you could. Who wouldn't? You wouldn't be the first." She tugged at her hands, trying to free them.

"And I could do nothing about it! I...I won't have relations with you, because I don't wish to disappoint you if I fail again. You'll eventually look elsewhere."

His own volume began to rise as he defended himself.

"How could you even think-"

"It would kill me! To know that you are with another when I love you!"

Silence fell between the two as they realized what she said.

She loved him.

_She loved him._

She couldn't stand to be apart from him, or to see him loved by another. To know that this man, who had become a piece of her, wasn't near her was unbearable.

His lips crashed onto hers and she responded in kind.

Before she knew it they had tumbled back onto their bed, shoving each other's clothes off as fast as possible.

_I love you._

_I love you._

The words seemed to be branded into her mind, into her heart.

His entry into her was swift enough to catch her by surprise. Her nails dug into his back in an attempt to hold on as he worked above her. With passion of her own she willed her hips to rock up to meet his.

"Arthur," she moaned, needing him to be as close to her as possible.

As far inside of her as possible.

He thrust into her harder in response to her soft noises.

His hands threaded through her hair as his kisses left her breathless.

She tightened her hold on him as he brought her to the point of ecstasy more than once that night.

She liked to pin that night at the night her second child was conceived.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: I'm sorry that this took so long. I've been having computer problems and it was holding my chapter hostage. :P Anyway, I've introduced a character that has been so far unseen by this fic and the show. Take a look and see who it is.

Thanks!

PS. I'm totally going to plug my other fic, "Only Forever". It's a dark, modern reincarnation fic with an Arthur/Gwen pairing. It's different from other reincarantion fics I've read, and I think it will give another spin on the theme. Check it out!

PPS. My birthday is Monday. How about reviews in honor of my birthday? :P

Disclaimer: "Merlin" belongs to the BBC.

_To Morgana, Queen of Gore, beloved sister,_

_I hope that all is well since last I wrote to you. We, here in Camelot, have received a blessing from our Lord: I am with child again. I pray everyday that all will go well and that I may be able to give the kingdom the son it needs. You, dear sister, have already accomplished your task. How fares my dear nephew, Mordred? Myself and Arthur were most honored to be chosen as godparents to our beloved nephew. By now his gift ought to have arrived, and I hope that both you and Ursien are pleased by it. I wish you the best of tidings in this New Year, and hope to send you more information about your growing nephew._

_With love,_

_Guinevere, Princess of Camelot _

A second letter rested beneath the first. A quick glance at the title alone would tell the reader that it was terribly informal compared to the other. Highly insulting, actually, if Morgana's husband was to read the bits concerning him and his treatment of his wife.

_Morgana,_

_Have things gotten better? I truly wish that I was there to help you and, If I was able, I would ride there this very night. Your son must have distracted him somewhat? He has the son he needs; there should be no reason to bother you further. I pray every night that your situation improves._

_-Gwen_

The letter would be personally delivered to the queen by one of her father's former men, ensuring that none other than Morgana would read it.

Gwen re-read the letter in her hands, one hand resting on the slight bulge that was form at her middle. There, beneath her layers of clothing, her child was growing. She had reached the four-month mark about a week ago, as estimated by the midwife that was going to be tending to her. It was at this time that Uther felt confident enough to announce that Guinevere was with child once more, and well into her pregnancy.

She had been cautious with the response that she received this time around with the announcement of her child. She didn't wish to be lulled into a sense of security, basking in her people's love, when she could fail at any moment.

She wouldn't fail.

Or at least, that was what Arthur kept telling her.

A warm feeling spread across her chest as her husband came to mind.

It was much easier being around him now that she had admitted what she felt for him. She didn't feel as limited in her actions, caught between being friends and spouses. She knew of his affections toward her from the time of her miscarriage. Yet he had insisted to declaring what she already knew quite a few times to her that night months ago. Her face burned as she remembered their coupling. She was surprised that she still didn't have any bruises left, or his declaration of love burned into her skin.

She was ashamed to admit it, but she found herself recently hoping that he would initiate their bedtime activity each night. She hadn't been sure why she was suddenly feeling extra...excitable. It seemed that all he had to do was _look _at her to make her feel ready to practically jump him. It frightened her at first, causing her to single out Beatrice. The woman had proved useful when last she had questions about the marital bed, and didn't disappoint on this question either. The answer: sometimes, during one's pregnancy, a woman felt more willing toward the marriage act than other times. Beatrice herself seemed torn on the subject.

Was it wrong to have relations with her husband while she was pregnant?

Or was it wrong to deny him his marital right?

She had tried to discreetly ask the midwife but the woman, hard of hearing, had only made her repeat the question much to her embarrassment.

As she was told before, it was alright as long as Arthur did not put pressure on her stomach.

But how to bring up this topic to him?

Despite being more comfortable around him in a sexual sense, she wasn't just about to tell him that she was craving their time together.

It was just...embarrassing.

"My lady, the silk merchant has arrived."

Gwen shook herself from her thoughts, having realized that Eleanor was speaking to her. Her ladies were stationed around a tapestry frame, starting to work on the creation she had first thought of during her first pregnancy.

She smiled, reaching up to brush stray curls behind her ears in an attempt to calm herself. She didn't want everyone knowing what she was thinking of by her flighty expression.

"Thank you. If you can show him in, please?"

The young woman nodded before seeing to the merchant.

March was the first time that the merchant had been able to stop in since his last trip to Camelot in November. Arthur had purchased bolts of cloth for her then for her Yuletide present, but that cloth had gone to her winter gowns. Silk would now be needed, more than usual, to clothe her soon to be large pregnant frame.

The merchant entered the room, followed by Eleanor, and bowed before her.

"Your Grace," he greeted her, only standing once she brushed off his formality.

"You have had a pleasant Yuletide, Mr. James?"

"I have, my lady. And I have heard that you have received a Christmas gift that surpasses any silk that I can provide," he added, the flair of a courtier apparent in his words.

She smiled despite his flowery words and nodded.

"That I have, Mr. James. Now, what bolts have you brought with you today?"

**0o0o0**

"It's a bit unnerving, having to order extra fabric."

Arthur snorted from where he was lounging in their bed, his eyes tracking his wife as she folded her dressing gown over a chair by the fire.

"God forbid you have to order another yard," he teased, reaching out for her as she neared him.

She eagerly went into his waiting arms, content to be wrapped in the warmth of them. Although spring was not far off, the chill of winter still remained.

Not that that was a problem when she was working up a sweat with him at night.

Feeling her stomach tighten with the now familiar feeling of desire, she glanced up at him.

"Have you had a very trying day?" she asked, trying to figure out how to change the track of their conversation.

Arthur, having not picked up on her train of thought, sighed.

"We're receiving more knight hopefuls now that spring is nearing. One of my cousins is arriving later in the week... You remember Gwaine, don't you? He visited once or twice right after Mother died. He turned seventeen last month and my aunt decided it was best to ship him off to us. It's going to be ridiculous teaching him."

He dragged a hand over his eyes.

"Don't get me wrong...he's a fine lad. It's just...he isn't the most mature. You remember that, don't you?"

Gwen bit her lip, nodding. She remembered quite well the boy who had slipped a toad down Morgana's dress on his last visit, nearly ten years ago.

"I just hope that he's gotten over his fondness of toads," she added, leaning on her elbows to observe him.

"He'd have best. If not I'll rap him one during training."

She giggled, leaning down to kiss him.

This, as she had hoped, changed his path of thinking.

He reached up a hand to cup her head, bringing her closer as his finger sifted through her curls. She moved one hand closer up to her pillow to shift her weight while balancing herself with her other arm on the opposite side of his chest. He shifted his hips slightly closer to her, allowing her to feel the hardness that was growing there. The simple brushing against her leg caused a warm feeling to pool between her legs.

"Arthur," she whispered, her mouth breaking away from his to allow air into her now starved lungs.

His hands found their way under her nightdress, pulling down her pantalets with ease. He kissed her once more, keeping her attention their as one of his fingers traced her opening. She moaned into his mouth, still somewhat unused to this maneuver on his part. She rarely allowed him to touch her there...but tonight it was looking more favorable.

Testing his luck, he dipped one finger in slowly.

She unconsciously tightened her lower muscles around his finger, which caused him to introduce a second.

She opened her mouth against his in response.

Her fingers drifted to his sleeping trousers, pulling at the laces.

"Please," she whispered, breaking away from his lips to suck at his neck.

It hurt how much she wanted him, wanted him filling her.

He slowly began to withdraw his fingers before gently pushing them back in.

Why was he teasing her this way? Didn't he realize how much she wanted him?

She peeped open an eye, seeing the rather amused expression on his face.

Gwen squeezed against his fingers once more, opening her other eye to look at him fully.

"You're none too vocal on what you want, Gwen," he teased, trying to shrug out of his pants without breaking the rhythm between her thighs.

"What do you want?"

Faster.

Harder.

But could she tell him that?

He waited expectantly while she struggled.

"Faster, please," she murmured, trying to ignore the embarrassing factor of the situation.

He acquiesced to her and increased his pace, turning her onto her back.

His free hand slid higher beneath her night dress, kneading her breasts beneath the fabric.

She hissed, out of pain and not pleasure, causing him to pause.

He withdrew both hands and looked her over with concern.

"Are you alright?" he questioned, see the torn expression on her face, balancing between annoyance and pain.

"Shush," he urged, laughing lightly. "I'll finish with you after."

She rolled her eyes, her own hands going to her breasts to press tentatively.

"They're still a bit sore... The midwife said they would be."

He kicked off his pants, shucking off his tunic a moment later.

"I don't want to press down on you..."

He hesitated, before taking her under the arms.

"What are you?-"

Before she knew it, she was straddling him, a inch away from where _he_ was waiting.

Instantly a blush broke out onto her face.

"I don't...we've never..."

He laughed, rubbing her lower back comfortingly.

"It's simple, really. And this way I won't have to worry about hurting you. Or him."

His hand slid down and around to her front, where their child was growing.

She nodded slowly, avoiding eye contact with him. Instead she scooted forward, before gently lowering herself onto him.

With an exhale of relief she remained stationary for a moment to become used to this new angle.

It felt...good. Nice to have him in her while she had been craving him all day.

"Here...just..."

Arthur took her hips into his hands, guiding them into a rocking motion.

Her mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise.

Right...there!

She shuddered, feeling him hit that tender spot that drove her so wild.

She rocked her hips forward, following the movement of his hands despite now knowing the dance they were to do.

Gwen tilted her head back slightly, closing her eyes and listening to their shallow breathing mixing together.

A soft cry flew from her lips as he thrust upward, meeting her own.

Not long now...

The second roll sent her on that now familiar spiral into bliss, leaving her feeling rather sluggish.

He withdrew from her, causing her to frown even in her hazy state.

"But-"

He hadn't reached that point, had he?

Gently, or as gently as he could with hands nearly shaking from need, he tugged her to the side of their bed.

Rolling her onto her back, with her legs dangling over the side, he entered her once more.

She hissed, this time from pleasure, as he set into the familiar rhythm. Later she would be grateful that by him standing he refrained from laying on her stomach. But this wasn't the time to think of the mechanics of their situation.

His lips crashed upon hers as he climaxed, triggering her own. It seemed that his very touch could send her reaching that peak.

Pregnancy, so far, was turning out to be far better than she had expected.

**0o0o0**

"Are you quite comfortable, my lady?"

Gwen smiled, biting back a giggle as Gwaine attempted to adjust the heavily embroidered pillow that had been placed against her chair for her comfort for yet the third time.

She caught his eye as he finished fixing the position of it, seeing the jovial twinkling in them.

The mischievous Gwaine of yesteryear had turned into Gwaine the flirt, apparently.

"All is well," she replied, patting his hand and permitting a small smile to slip past.

The soon-to-be knight bowed his head before taking up his former position standing behind his uncle. Gwen chanced a look over at her husband, sitting to the left of his father, and just caught the man's eye roll. She bit her lip to withhold her mirth before leaning back against the cushions once more.

Gwaine, the perfect courtier, had been trailing her around much like Welfed every since his arrival two weeks earlier. Who better to serve, he had said, than his future queen? She found it highly amusing and permitted him this liberty, even if Arthur found him rather annoying. Still, the young man was already proving himself on the training grounds. If he kept his superb work up Arthur's dislike would fade soon.

The double doors at the end of the throne room opened.

Instantly the three members of the royal family stood as they, along with the rest of the court in attendance, focused their attention to the small party making its way down the aisle.

"Introducing His Highness, King Melwas of the Summer Country."

Nearly a week earlier Uther had received a rather long apology from King Melwas over the incident of his rogue soldiers. So sincere was he in his letter that he wished to visit personally to smooth out any issues the situation had caused. Which was why Gwen was now standing, garbed in one of her best gowns, and sincerely wishing that she could just go back to bed. She felt so tired all of the time. It was the same tired that she had felt when she had lost her first baby, when she hadn't wanted to do anything. This was just utter exhaustion.

But there wasn't anything she could do about it at the moment. As the Lady of the Citadel, along with being the heir's wife, it was required of her to be at such state functions. She would just have to grit her teeth and endure the visit until she was permitted to retire to her rooms.

Having never met King Melwas before she took this chance to study him. He was of medium height, a little shorter than Arthur was. His dark hair was slightly graying at the temples, suggesting his age to be somewhere near his late thirties. He approached the throne, clasping Uther's outstretched hand.

"Uther," he greeted him, smiling. "It is an honor to finally meet you." His voice, along with his grip on Uther's arm seemed to be the definition of jovial.

The king smiled, although not as fully as Melwas. Uther had been on the throne long enough to not trust the smiles or words of men.

"It has been a shame that we have yet to meet till now, and under such circumstances," the king answered as his arm was finally dropped. "But that shall be remedied."

He gestured to his left first, and then his right.

"May I present to you my son and heir, Prince Arthur, and his wife, Princess Guinevere."

Melwas stepped forward, grasping Arthur's hand.

"I've heard much about you and your military abilities, my boy," Melwas commented, his smile still on his face despite meeting the defeater of his soldiers. "I'm sure you have made your father very proud."

Arthur, not exactly sure how to respond to this compliment by his former opponent, responded with a 'Thank you, Your Grace."

It was as Melwas was leaving her husband to approach her that she saw the change in his eyes.

No longer did they hold a respectful and friendly gaze, but one filled with lust. She blinked, thinking that she might have mistaken the look he had given her, but found that he was smiling friendly once more.

"My lady," he said, bending over her offered hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. He lingered a second more than he should, but not long enough to be called out on his actions.

Feeling rather uneasy, she was glad when Uther called their guest to be led to his chambers. It wasn't until Arthur neared her, extending his arm, that the crease in her brows relaxed.

As he led her from the hall she realized that she must have imagined the look. At least she hoped.

**0o0o0**

Gwen felt her teeth break through the skin of the apple, assailing her senses with something like relief. Had she been alone she might have moaned aloud for how wonderful the fruit tasted. Instead she chewed the bite carefully while staring down at her prize.

Batilda had told her that nearly every woman had one food that they craved constantly throughout their pregnancy. Hers? Apples.

Arthur watched her with amusement, sitting to the right of the king to allow Melwas to take the left. He grabbed her free hand with his under the table after setting his goblet down.

"You aren't going to eat anything else?" he teased, watching as she shook her head.

"Who am I to deny what your son wishes to eat?" she countered, giving him a cheeky smile before taking another bite.

After she had set down the core she reached for the goblet of asses milk to the side of her plate, grimacing before taking a swig. Batilda urged her to drink at least two gobletfuls a day, as it was 'proven' to result in a healthy child. Who was she to argue, having never given birth before? It just didn't help that the taste was truly awful.

"Milady."

She glanced up at the dark haired king after setting her goblet down, smiling politely.

"Your Highness," she answered, her eyes meeting Melwas'.

"I have noticed that you have yet to dance this evening, my lady. Would you care to be my partner?"

She hesitated, not knowing how to politely decline. She knew that it would be diplomatically keen of her to dance at least one number with their new foreign ally, yet she wasn't too pleased with having his gaze upon her. It wasn't at all like the staring that she had endured from Arthur before their marriage. Yes there had been lust in his eyes, but not sinister intent as she was seeing thinly veiled in Melwas'.

"I'd rather not have my wife undergo any physical exertion," Arthur cut in, much to her relief.

"It's not good for a woman with child to be overtiring herself."

Something changed in the man's gaze at these words.

"With child?" he questioned, his eyes immediately going to the small bulge at Gwen's stomach, visible now that she was sitting. Standing, as when he had first arrived, the cut of her skirt had successfully hidden the small bump growing at her waist.

"Congratulations, to the both of you then," he continued, his polite smile back in place. "Camelot is well on its way to continuing its fine legacy."

She forced herself to smile in thanks and almost turned back in her seat, thinking that he had finished.

"But one dance couldn't cause any harm, could it? Something slow? A pavane?"

Gwen withheld a wince before resting a hand on her husband's arm, having seen him move to speak.

"One dance couldn't do much harm," she echoed, knowing that the simple dance would be enough to appease him. Enough, maybe, to get him to leave her alone.

Forcing herself to seem pleased she allowed the king to lead her to the group of dancers where he called for the correct dance. The instant his hands were on her she felt like she had never felt before.

To sum it up...slimy.

She felt as if she herself was soiled by the very touch of his fingertips.

Her smile faltered somewhat yet, calling on her years of being a courtier, she followed through with a pleasant smile.

While she followed the steps ingrained in her since childhood she practically counted the seconds until the dance was over. All she wanted to do, after feeling the grip of his hands on her skin, was to scrub the very feeling off of herself.

A few moments later, although it seemed much longer, the music finally stopped. She rather quickly stepped from his grasp, clapping for the musicians.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, finally meeting his eyes.

"I hope that you will enjoy yourself this evening."

His smile didn't exactly reach his eyes. Instead, she noticed something calculating there.

"I have, milady," making a point to use the past tense of the word. "I have."

She gave him a half-smile, making her way to the dais as quickly as was polite.

"I'm tired," was all she said once she reached Arthur. She took in his disgruntled look, guessing that he too must have noticed the odd way that Melwas was acting around her.

Arthur leaned over to whisper something to his father before standing, taking her arm without a word.

The two passed the king, on his way back to his seat, on their journey from the hall.

Arthur gave the man the slightest of head tilts in greeting, which was met by Melwas' over-the-top bow.

Ignoring the barely hidden smirk on the king's face, the prince led Gwen from the hall.

King or no king, she hoped to never see Melwas again.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: I am sorry that this has taken so long. Christmas took up all my time. I'm going to try to get back on my ten day update schedule again. But thank you all for the reviews and birthday wishes! And to the reviewer who asked about the apples being a shout out to "The Tudors", they were correct. :P I realized it after I typed it.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

"My lady."

The king bowed over her extended hand before placing a kiss to her knuckles. Gwen tried her best not to grimace and quickly forced a smile to her face as Melwas looked up to meet her gaze.

"You have been the most gracious of guests, my lord," she said, the lie slipping past her lips easier than she thought. He seemed to be one that favored flattery, to the point where it was clearly fake. But if he realized that she wasn't true with her sentiments he did not call her out on it.

"I wish you a safe journey back to the Summer Country."

Melwas inclined his head in thanks for her well wishes before going to bid Uther goodbye, nut not before giving her a lingering look.

She looped her arm back into Arthur's, taking her eyes away from the foreign king. She knew as well as Arthur that nothing could be said about the liberties Melwas had taken. For one it could cause even more tension between the two nations, which neither wanted. And second, Uther might accuse Arthur of overreacting. The two instead settled for silence, and for Gwen to be stuck to her husband's side for the duration of Melwas' visit.

She moved to mount the stairs with Arthur to return to the castle, and suddenly found a second arm looping through her left arm. She looked over in surprise, to see the leather clad hand of Gwaine as he helped her up the steps. Stifling a laugh she allowed both men to escort her up the 'treacherous' stairs, thoughts of the king erased from her mind for the moment.

_ Two months later_

"A bit to the right. Under the window….there!"

Merlin stepped back from where he had been lugging around the finely carved cradle. As he straightened he stretched his back, looking down at the furniture piece with relief. That cradle hadn't exactly been the easiest thing to carry from the storage chambers to the heir's designated nursery. But Gwen had asked him to retrieve it and who was he to say no to her? Princess or not, she was his friend.

"But I don't wish for him to catch a chill so close to the window… Maybe we should move it back slightly?"

He hid his grimace before moving to haul the Cradle of Estate farther away from the window.

There!

"But I fear he won't be able to feel the warmth of the sun anymore…"

Apparently he didn't hide his expression fast enough this time, as Gwen caught sight of his less than eager appearance.

"Oh! Merlin, I'm sorry!"

She moved over to him, as quick as her now weighed down frame could manage, and placed her hands over his on the side of the cradle in order to prevent him from moving it.

"I didn't realize…. Just leave it, please."

The young man shook his head.

"I'll move it-"

She frowned, shaking her head.

"I'll have Arthur move it into place later."

Seeing that the princess was giving him a rather sincere look, Merlin greatfully stepped back from the cradle. It's occupant was going to weigh so little…shouldn't its bed weigh next to nothing? Apparently not.

The man chuckled.

"Arthur? Please, whatever you do, don't have me relay the message," he teased, only imagining the smack to the head he would get for such a request. He honestly thought that the man had never done such a simple task in his life. And why should he have had? He had been waited on hand and foot since birth.

Gwen smiled, standing up and stretching her back.

"He'll do it for this," she said, glancing down at the cradle.

Every royal child had slept in that cradle, at least back five generations. It had been slept in by the incompetent king that Uther had defeated in battle, earning him the country. And it had been slept in by both Arthur and Morgana. Now her children were to lay down their tiny heads and slumber in the cot.

Even though she was in her sixth month of pregnancy, she wished to ready the nursery to receive her child. A room had been chosen in the wing that both she, Morgana, and Arthur had first lived in during their childhood. It was a floor below her chambers, which was really only a few moments away. He, or she, would be given a household of their own to oversee their every need. It wasn't typical for a woman of her status to be very involved in her child's life, yet she couldn't imagine not taking any interest. Igraine had been very involved in her childrens' lives, as had Uther until her death. Gwen wished for her child to know her, not fear her.

Even so, she would still need to find the child a nurse and wet nurse. Ladies of her position did not breastfeed their own children. For as soon as her milk dried she would be able to have her courses once more, which would allow for another child to be conceived. She hoped that Arthur would not isnsit on another right away. The backaches that she was feeling already from the added weight, along with the stress of carrying the possible heir, were nearly doing her in. Not to mention the sickness she had felt earlier in her pregnancy. Well, at least she wasn't spewing up her breakfast anymore.

Having been lost in thought, she hadn't been expecting the jolt in her stomach.

She held out a hand to a nearby chest of draws to keep herself standing in her shock. What had that been? She realized that Merlin was calling her name yet she didn't answer. Not even the urgency in his tone as he neared her was enough to prompt her. For a horrifying moment she thought that she was losing the baby. Her heart rate increased as panic set in. The blood, she didn't want to see it!

But after a moment of nothing happening she was able to realize what had just happened.

The jolt hadn't been painful, more like a nudge.

A kick.

She gasped, startling the poor manservant further.

"Gwen?" he inquired yet again, panic clear on his features.

She laughed, somewhat breathless, as she had not been breathign in fear of dislodging her child.

He continued to stare at her, but now in utter confusion instead of urgency.

She crossed the room to where a chair had been placed before the empty fireplace.

"He's alive," she whispered, feeling relief wash over her.

Another kick had her near in tears.

"He kicked!"

She had been terribly worried that the baby might have died within her womb, as she had yet to feel his movement. According to the midwife, and Batilda, a woman normally felt the child move somewhere after her fifth month. But up until now, in her sixth month, she hadn't felt a single flutter. Yet the incessant kicking in her stomach erased this fear. She turned her gleeful gaze upon Merlin, who was staring at her with something close to wonder.

"Find Arthur," she said, wishing for him to share in this moment with her.

The request sent the young man bolting from the room, skidding in the doorway before making a sharp right.

A laugh bubbled up through her lips as she rubbed her stomach tenderly.

"My darling, strong boy," she whispered, staring down at the bump through the fabric of her gown. She wondered if he could hear her. Was that possible? She would have to inquire with the midwife.

It was nearly five minutes later when Arthur arrived, still dressed in his mail. There was a slight sheen of sweat still on his brow, suggesting that he hadn't even had the time to wash up after drilling the knights.

"What's happened?" he inquired, urgency clear in his tone as his gaze settled on his wife. His eyes had previously swept the room, as if expecting to see some tradgedy. Merlin hadn't had the chance to explain what had happened, as all the boy had told him was that his wife was in the nursery, and something had happened with his child.

Her beaming face caught him off guard, as he had been expecting the worst.

"Here," she said, beckoning him over to her. He knelt before her, his eyes questioning silently what was wrong.

She took his hand without a word and started to remove his glove. He helped her without a word, confusion wrinkling his brow.

Carefully she took his hand and placed it where she had last felt her child kick. She hoped that the few kicks he had just given would not be all for the day. She wanted her husband to feel the small movement that ensured that their child was thriving as she had.

She needn't have worried, for a few moments later Arthur's eyes went wide.

"It's….him?" he asked, awe entering his voice. Guinevere watched him look at her womb as if it was the most magnificent thing he had ever before seen.

He looked so…innocent in that moment. So much like the child she had met the first day she had arrived in Camelot.

How their child would look.

Without warnign he reached up to kiss her, which sent a warm tingle down her spine.

A breathless laugh slipped past her lips as he embraced her after.

She felt as if she was floating on air, and hadn't the slightest wish to return to the ground.

**0o0o0**

Masses of thanksgiving had been sung all throughout the week for the quickening in Gwen's womb. She felt as if her face had been stuck in a permeantt smile since telling Arthur of the news. The first few days following the news she had been greeted with countless congratulations that made her feel as if she had just announced her pregnancy all over. But being in the favor of the courtiers wasn't something that one brushed aside. One could have their favor today, and their hatred tomorrow.

One thing she could do without since announcing that the child had moved was the increased warriness of her husband, brother, and Gwaine. They had for the most part allowed her space in the first few months of her pregnancy (except for Arthur) but now , with the birth only three months away, they seemed to be restricting her further. At times she wished to lash out, but the thought behind their actions usually kept her from doing so. Anyway, it was just another three months. Three months and then she would be able to take a breath again.

Supping with the king, as both she and her husband were doing nearly a week from the first flutter, gave her no reprieve either.

It was always _'Do you want anything else, Gwen_' or '_You've had your milk, haven't you_'? She hadn't been treated as such since before she had had her first set of stays. To appease the two men at the table she took another helping of pork and another goblet of asses milk.

True, she still felt hungry, but it was the principle of the matter…..

A sharp rapping at the door had the three royals looking up from the table.

The king nodded to Merlin who placed his wine jug down before going to permit the intruder.

A guard escorted a rather harried, exhausted looking man inside of the dining chamber. He needn't explain who he was, as the crest of Gore was clear on his dusty jacket.

Kneeling before the table as the king stood, the man bowed his head.

"I've come with dreadful news," he started, gasping as if he had run from his horse all the way to the chamber. Which he probably did, looking at the state of him.

Instantly Gwen's heart lept into her throat, thinking of Morgana. Had Ursien found out that she had magic? He didn't have a strict policy on the use of magic as Uther did, but he may not appreciate his wife witholding sucha secret from him.

"King Ursien is dead. Murdered."

Uther stood up from his chair so quickly that he nearly toppled it over.

As the kign had yet to formulate a response, Arthur turned to the messanger.

"And my sister? What of the queen and her son?" His speech was hurried, as if his mind was flying ahead of the messanger's response and aleady formulating more questions.

The man rested on his knee, tears barely hidden in his eyes at the loss of his monarch.

"Both Her Majesty and the prince- the king- are safe. The villan has yet to be apprehended, but they are both given high security. King Lot himself has sent men to defend King Mordred's claim, as well as protecting the Dowager."

Dowager.

Murdered.

King Mordred.

Her mind spun as she tried to process what she had just been told.

"The boy," she said, startling the three men by her abrupt speech.

"The boy can't be allowed to stay there. It is much too dangerous," she said, thinking that if Morgana had enemies they would certainly waste no time getting to the new king. One could never please everyone in life, and she knew from Morgana's letters that there was a faction at Ursien's court who despised her. It would only be too easy for those who did not like her to despose of her, perhaps in the same way that Ursien had been killed, in order to take the power behind the throne. Mordred would nto rule alone for at least another eighteen years. That was eighteen years of power someone else would have.

"You," Uther said, nodding toward the man as he stood.

"With me. You'll have a bed for the night and then you must depart at first light. I'll have men sent with you, to put down any….problems."

Knowing the king for so long, Gwen could see the hidden panic in the older man's eyes. He too was thinking of the dangers that would be lurking for his daughter.

Once the two had left the room Gwen stood up from her own chair, finding that she no longer had an appetite.

"He can't stay there," she repeated, her hands moving to rest on the back of her chair.

Neither could Morgana, but she would be able to handle herself with the force of Lot and Uther's men.

But her thoughts centered mostly on the helpless babe who had now been shackled with the title of 'king'.

"He'll be under the best protection available," Arthur insisted, also standing. He nodded to Merlin, who descended upon the table with Catherine to clean up the remnants.

She shook her head, knowing that might not be enough.

"Before the messanger leaves tomorrow, I wish to write to Mrogana. Perhaps we could foster the child until things have been settled." She gave him a rather pleading glance. "It would put him out of harms' way entirely, and give Morgana some ease of mind."

She knew, despite having not spoken to the woman about it, that Morgana would be far happier with her son safe than beside her in danger.

Her thoughts flew ahead of the current moment. With Mordred under their care he could grow up with their son, and his consequent siblings. That was, until matters in Gore were calmed. Honestly she thought it benefited both parties. Why would Morgana refuse?

Instead of providing an argument, as she had expected, Arthur nodded.

"I'll speak to Father about it," he said, meeting her around the table.

"We'll get it taken care of."

**0o0o0**

A week had passed before they received word of Gore's condition. A Camelot messenger had returned with a stack of letters for the royal family along with an overall report by Sir Leon, who had been dispatched to lead the security troop.

Apparently Ursien had been found by his manservant with a dagger in his heart shortly after supper. What followed over the course of the days after was utter chaos. The castle was sent on a manhunt to track down the murderer while those who had given the slightest bit of suspicion were heavily interrogated. Morgause's king, Lot, had sent in men as the Gore messenger had mentioned. By the time Camelot's troop had arrived things had mostly been ironed out.

Morgana was Queen Regent until her son was declared of age.

The dissenters had been put down and warned.

Yet the culprit was still on the lose.

As of yet nothing had been found, but Leon spoke of the continued effort to root out the killer.

But what was most upsetting of all had been Morgana's answer to the fostering of Mordred.

Gwen tried not to let the missive upset her, yet she had had to stop reading it halfway through, and had instead thrust it at Arthur to finish.

Her friend had been insulted!

Insulted that Gwen and Arthur wished to take away her child to a place where he had no claim to. A place that might prove to be more dangerous to him than the unsettled Gore was.

Arthur had been confused at her choice of words, but Gwen had realized what her friend had been implying.

If Mordred had magic as she did, his life may be in danger if he grew up in Uther's court.

Still, it stung just the same to see her seemingly idyllic plan torn to shreds by her one of the closest friends.

Maybe most damning of all was that Morgana did intend to have her son fostered, but not by the Pendragons.

Morgause had been asked to look after the child until further notice, and had accepted.

This had set Gwen's blood to boil. She knew that Morgause was proving an invaluable friend to Morgana, but she was not kin as herself and Arthur were. She knew that it might just be jealousy at having her status as close friend being overtaken by another, but there was something beneath Morgause that bothered her. Normally a child was given one godparent of the opposite gender, and two of their own sex. Yet Mordred had managed to have both Gwen and Morgause as godmothers. She hadn't commented on it before, but the addition of the queen to a role she rightfully thought was her's had irked her.

Willing to think of it no further, she tucked the letter beneath the rest of the replies sent by Morgana.

She had far more important things to worry about, as the nudge in her stomach reminded her.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: I'm trying to get back on a more regular schedule with this. I didn't get much feedback from many of you last chapter, and I hope I haven't dissapointed you. But I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Dislcaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

"We won't be going too far."

Arthur moved to cup her cheek, the coolness of the leather doing little to relive neither her worry or her flushed skin. He smiled at her beneath the August sun before pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

"If anything should happen…"

He glanced down at the bump at her waist, grown so big that she hadn't even wished to make the short journey down from her lying in chamber to see him off, before giving her an encouraging look.

"If our child decides to make an appearance, it won't take me too long to return to you," he finished, brushing aside a stray curl that had escaped the neat twist at the back of her neck.

She rested one hand over the fingers brushing her hair and nodded. She didn't have to voice the concern that was nagging at the back of her mind, as she knew he held the same worry. For both were worried about the health of the infant who would shortly be delivered into the Pendragon dynasty. And also, by the thinly veiled look of anxiety within Arthur's gaze, the health of the mother.

Women oftentimes died in childbirth. Some women were just not strong enough to bring their child into the world. Others contracted the dreaded puerperal, or childbed, fever that sent the woman into deliriousness before finally extinguishing her life. And still, more dreadfully, was death due to birth complications. She had heard stories of children being in the wrong position for birthing that had to be extracted in such ways that it proved fatal for the infant. Or equally worse, tales of where the woman was cut open to retrieve the infant. Death followed quickly for the female that had to go under the barber's knife in such a situation.

Yet Batilda, along with her midwife, insisted that everything would be fine. Gwen was a healthy girl, strong after years of horse back riding. The nearly toothless old midwife had told her her strong thighs would come in handy when she was crouching over the birthing stool.

But all of their assurances couldn't put her mind to rest. And when the king had announced that Progress would go forth as usual she had panicked even further. What was she to do if the labor pains arrived and her husband wasn't there? Men were forbidden from the birthing chamber yet she would be comforted knowing that he was anxiously waiting in the corridor with the other nobles.

Or if she died? She would have liked to see those blue eyes one last time….

Feeling a shiver of dread rush down her back she quickly moved to embrace him. He responded, trying his best to hold her despite the bulk in between them. Silently he placed his hand upon the bulge, pressed a kiss to her forehead, before gently letting go of her.

"I'll write," he insisted, mounting his palfrey once Merlin appeared with the animal.

"And I'll make sure he does," Merlin chimed in, narrowly avoiding getting hit in the head by the prince's boot as he mounted.

Gwen smiled, moving to pat the gelding's neck.

"I trust you'll badger him until he picks up a quill," she teased, watching as the young man grinned.

She reluctantly stepped away from the blonde rider as the call for the travelers to begin was sounded. The king was at the front of the party, yet his son remained toward the rear to be by her for a few moments longer. Already she had said goodbye to Uther who also assured her that the shortened route of Progress this year wouldn't take them too far from her.

If it had been earlier in her pregnancy maybe she would have been able to accompany them. But at around nine months there was no way she could even lift her leg high enough to step into the stirrup without hitting her belly.

Gently she rubbed at the bulge beneath her gown, feeling her child kick.

"Your Da will be back soon," she whispered, watching as the group rode out of the courtyard.

She would hate for him not to be there to meet their child when he first arrived.

Her brother's warm hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality. He coaxed her toward the stairs, taking her arm to help her climb them. She at first had felt bad that Elyan was staying behind with her and her household instead of going off with the king. But her brother had insisted that it had been his choice, as he didn't wish to leave her alone at such a crucial time.

Smiling at her brother she allowed him to help her back into the slightly cooler castle, not before giving the dust kicked up by the riders one last glance.

**0o0o0**

A week later found her in her lying in chamber, still heavy with child. Each day she had woken in bed alone, quite certain that this would be the day that her child was brought into the world. Yet each night she was faced with her pregnant belly and no babe in her arms. It was growing frustrating being such a large size, and in the insufferable heat of August. She was growing overly emotional and was upset by the slightest things, as she had at the beginning of her pregnancy.

It had only been yesterday when she had accidentally dropped a piece of sewing cloth and hadn't, due to her size, been able to pick it up off the floor.

Eleanor had found her sobbing her heart out when she returned with a glass of milk for the noblewoman.

Yet despite her discomfort and wanting to hold her child in her arms, part of her also wished to delay the birth.

For one Arthur was not yet back from his trip about the kingdom.

And second, she was terrified of the pain that birthing would bring.

She had been taught since an early age that one of Eve's punishments was for all women to suffer in childbirth. She had grown up hearing tales of pain that accompanied birthing. Of the feeling of being seemingly ripped apart. She had suffered scrapes and bruises as a child. She'd been thrown off her horse a handful of times, nicked with training swords, and cut herself on arrow tails.

Yet the pain of childbirth wouldn't hold a candle to anything she'd ever experienced.

She had been put up in her chambers from childhood which seemed to be entirely foreign to her, despite not having been away from them for that long. The windows were normally kept covered, although she had prodded Catherine to take off the coverings for at least a few hours of the day. If not, the room was even more stifling than the August sun outside her window. The midwife had chided her for ignoring the rules of the lying in chamber, yet for perhaps the first time Gwen pulled her rank to get what she wanted. How could delivering a child in a dark, stifling room be healthy for both mother and babe? Gaius had told her quite a few times his feelings of the lying in room, and they lined up with her opinion. Alas, Gaius could do little to help her; birthing was in the female sphere, not the male.

Reclined in her chambers she was constantly reminded of the imminent birth. Already a cradle had been brought in along with the supplies needed to bring the child into the world; swaddling cloths, rags, a wash basin. The dreaded birthing chair had made its appearance as well, although it was generally kept out of sight. She hated the idea of sitting on that odd looking stool, with the majority of the seat cut away, to push her child into the world. Some women gave birth lying down but she had been advised against such a thing by Beatrice. She, as well as Batilda, had given birth to all of her children with the stool and claimed that it was easier on the mother.

Gwen thoughts differed. She'd rather be in comfort instead of balancing on her seat bones.

"Your Highness, the nurse is here," piped up Eleanor after peeking her head from behind the curtain separating Gwen's bedchamber and sitting room.

A smile formed on the tired princess' lips.

"Send her in, please," she instructed, watching as Eleanor nodded.

"And send for a flagon of cold ale and some sweetmeats."

Her visitor had traveled for quite a bit, from Ealdor, and would be in need of a cool drink and refreshment from her journey.

She had been stumped on who to choose for her child's nurse and had delayed the choice for quite some time. Not from neglect, but from her inability to choose her child's caretaker. She and Batilda had a relationship akin to a daughter and mother, and she wished for her child to also have a close relationship with their nurse. Of course she didn't want this woman to eclipse her role as mother, yet she wanted someone that her child would consider to be part of the family.

She had expressed her worries to Merlin nearly two months earlier in passing, yet the young man had remembered her concern. Not too long after he recommended his own mother. She had no other children to look after, as Merlin was an only child, nor any other family. At first she had been hesitant to hire a woman she had never met for such an important role in her child's life. Yet after speaking with Gaius, who knew the woman well, she was persuaded to write to the woman. After all, she had raised Merlin who she counted as a good friend. She could hardly be a terrible mother if she raised the charming boy.

The worst that could happen was that the woman either denied her request, or turned out to be unsuitable for the job and taken from the list of candidates.

Yet after a series of letters sent between the princess and Hunith, neither happened.

Gwen found her from her writing to be rather charming and humble. She expressed interest in the position and it was arranged for her to arrive in Camelot in time for the birth.

Now, for the first time, she was meeting the woman face to face.

Catherine showed the older woman into the princess' bedchamber and left with a careful curtsey.

Gwen sat up a bit more from where she was resting in bed to better observe the woman.

She was much older than herself, but not nearly as old as Batilda.

Her hair, tucked beneath a cloth, was lighter than her son's. Yet she saw something of Merlin in the woman's cheekbones and eyes.

The woman in the homespun cloth curtseyed before her.

"It is an honor to meet you, my lady," she said, her voice soft and gentle.

Gwen smiled, gesturing for the woman to sit up.

"As it is for me to meet you," she said, patting the chair beside her bed.

The woman seemed a bit surprised to be asked to sit before royalty but didn't voice her concern in fear of insulting the princess. Instead she took up the cushioned stool beside the bed and placed her hands into her lap.

"Your journey was not too challenging, was it?" she asked as Eleanor reappeared with the refreshments requested. The lady-in-waiting poured a goblet of chilled ale for both women before silently departing.

"Not at all, my lady," Hunith replied, a smile forming on her lips.

"Except for the hot sun, yet nothing can be done about such a thing."

Gwen chuckled lightly after sipping from her ale.

"My chambers consist of the same temperature outside it seems," she said, casting a rather scornful look upon the window coverings.

Hunith's eyes followed her gaze, a small frown resting upon her lips.

"I've found that birthing in such a dark, dry place does little to help the babe. Most women of my village thrust the windows open, weather permitting, for the sunlight to greet their child."

She blushed, realizing that she had spoke aloud.

"Forgive me, I know you didn't ask-"

"No, no," Gwen insisted, reaching over to pat the woman's free hand.

"I feel the same, honestly. Yet tradition is something that is rather hard to defy."

Perhaps after she had successfully birthed a few children she would have the power to change things.

Quite pleased that the woman held the same opinion as her, Gwen relaxed against the pillows once more.

"I'm sorry that your son was unable to greet you; he is still accompanying my husband."

Hunith smiled before taking a sip of the ale.

"I will see him when he returns. I am so delighted, my lady, that he was awarded a position in the royal household. Perhaps it is a mother's bias, but he truly is a sweet boy. And he holds Arthur in such high esteem."

Gwen nearly spewed her ale back out at that comment, knowing quite well of the eye rolls that Merlin shot at her husband behind his back. Yet the two had formed a type of camaraderie over the past few months. She wouldn't count them as the best of friends, but there was some friendship brewing there.

"They are quite the pair," she commented before setting down her goblet upon her side table.

"And I must thank you, my lady, for offering me such a position. It's been years since I've held a babe in my arms. I truly hope to make you proud as your child's caretaker," the older woman added, earnestly clear in her eyes.

Gwen smiled before passing the small platter of sweetmeats to the woman.

Her tone was soft, her voice gentle. Her actions were respectful.

This would work.

"I think you are well on your way to doing so, Hunith."

**0o0o0**

The afternoon sun of the twentieth burned as hot as Gwen could ever remember. She had had, after much arguing, the window coverings removed from her chambers in order to garner some fresh air or a hint of a breeze. She had nearly taken off the casing herself before Batilda had given in.

After the birth she would apologize for being such an emotional mess, but now she was too hot and pregnant to care.

She counted Arthur as lucky that he was still on Progress, or he would have had to face her pregnant wrath as well. He and the rest of the traveling party were at the last location of Progress, at an estate about ten miles from the city. They were scheduled to return sometime tomorrow evening.

She was rather glad that her child had held out until now. At least he would be here when she birthed-

A discomforting sensation shot through her.

Gwen moved to stand up from the chair that she had been resting in by the open window and felt a sudden rush of liquid. She stared down at the damp patch of her dress, eyes wide, as she was reminded of her miscarriage.

But the difference this time was that her baby was fully formed, and ready to join the world.

"It's….it's….He's…"

Why couldn't she put together a coherent sentence?

Instead, in her excitement and panic, she gestured down to her lower half once Beatrice and Catherine rushed in from the sitting room. The youngest gave something of a strangled yelp as she realized that the heir was coming, while the elder woman remained calm.

"Fetch the midwife and Batilda," Beatrice ordered, having to physically prod the stunned other woman into action. Eleanor, having heard the commotion, appeared a moment later. Her cheeks paled as she realized what was happening.

"The….the stool," she said, nearly tripping over her skirts in order to retrieve it from the corner.

Had Gwen not been panicking about the life ready to burst forth from her, she might have noticed the thinly veiled annoyance of the older woman at the actions of the younger ladies.

"Leave the stool and alert Lord Leodegrance and the council. Tell them to send a message to the king," she said, still the picture of calm as she went toward the chest of drawers opposite the bed.

Without a word Eleanor darted off, repeating her instructions aloud to herself.

Beatrice withdrew a clean shift from the cupboard before approaching Guinevere.

"My lady," she said, her tone gentle as she tried to calm the young woman.

Gwen's eyes snapped up toward her as the pain slowly ceased.

"It…stopped," she said, realizing how simple she must sound.

"It will come and go," the older woman commented, moving to unlace the princess' gown. Numbly Gwen stepped out of it and into the clean shift.

A flurry of activity caught her attention as Batilda entered with the midwife straight behind her.

"My lamb!" the old nurse exclaimed, pushing Gwen's head into her bosom as she murmured words of encouragement.

The princess noted that her chemise was being hiked up and someone's cold fingers pressed on her-

"What?" she exclaimed, extracting herself from Batilda's suffocating hold to see the midwife checking her nether regions.

"You've got time," the elderly woman commented, straightening up as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be checking someone's private parts.

There was much too much going on to her and around her for Gwen to handle. Blindly she sought out the chair she had abandoned moments ago to allow her head to stop spinning.

Yet rest would not be gifted to her.

The next two hours consisted of her being walked around the room, a lady on either side of her to assist, and hoping that the birth canal widened enough for her to safely deliver the baby.

It was only after the third time of the midwife's 'checking of her' that it was explained that the babe would wreak damage if the birth canal had not widened enough. It would take time, she had been told.

Yet by the third hour she was ready to physically pull the child out herself.

She gritted her teeth as a wave of pain washed over her. Gwen grabbed onto the nearest person's hand, which happened to be Catherine, and held on in order to ride it out. The lady-in-waiting dutifully allowed her hand to be near mangled by her mistress before helping her complete another circuit about the room.

Her husband and father-in-law would be back by now. She had seen the messenger herself bolt from the courtyard on the fastest horse in the stables. Yet despite the encouragement that her best friend and husband could bring her, he was denied access from her chambers. Even Gaius, who had treated her since she had been a child, was not even allowed within her sitting room. She was in the hands of women and would be until her child entered.

This time as the midwife checked her she refrained from jumping, much too tired after walking for hours to object.

"Get her onto the stool," the no-nonsense woman ordered as she herself dragged the birthing stool toward the princess. "The pains are coming fast enough where she can push 'em out."

Fear seized her heart as Batilda guided her onto the contraption.

Her chemise was rucked up nearly to her waist as every woman in the room waited for the next contraction with bated breath.

They needn't have waited long, as the next pain followed shortly after she had gotten situated.

"Push!" the gruff woman insisted as both Batilda and Beatrice's hands moved to hold Gwen's shoulders back in order to anchor her onto the stool.

With all her might she tried to push, yet felt little movement.

With a gasp she fell against the restraining hands, glad that her ladies were there as she would have most likely fallen to the floor.

A few moments later and another pain rocked her.

She dimly heard the midwife continuing her mantra of 'push' yet found that she couldn't form words to respond.

Instead she continued to push her child out of her and finally made some progress.

Yet the pain of pushing a living thing from you!

She had, up till this moment, tried to keep any noise of pain from escaping her. Yet this latest jolt had her failing to repress a sob.

Another push and the pain only intensified.

She was normally a level headed person who guarded her emotions well, yet her resolve seemed to be abandoning her.

She was going to die, plain and simple.

She would never see Arthur, her brother, the king, Morgana….anyone ever again.

She would never hold her child.

She would never see which parent his look's favored-

A shriek that did not come from her lips jarred her from her internal monologue.

Guinevere realized that the wail accompanied a reprieve from the pain she had been feeling.

That meant…..her child!

Another cramp seized her, causing her to push on instinct to expel the afterbirth.

She craned her neck to see the wailing infant that Batilda had in her hands while the midwife cut the cord connecting mother and child.

"What….Is it alright?" she asked, her voice sounding hoarse and tired.

Eleanor and Catherine helped her stand as Beatrice took a warm cloth and wiped at the remains of the birthing that coated her thighs. Only then did she see the amount of blood that had accompanied her babe. Her vision swam at seeing all of the red liquid, yet thankfully the sheet that had been thrown underneath her stool was taken away.

Her shift was lifted from her body, with a clean one replacing it a moment later. She didn't care in the slightest that she was exposed during this, or the fact that one of her ladies had just cleaned her intimate parts before the entire room.

The only thing that mattered was getting her hands on her baby.

"Come rest, your highness," Eleanor requested, tugging gently at her arm to lead her.

Yet Gwen rebuffed her tugging.

"My baby," she insisted, watching as Batilda assisted the midwife in washing the wailing child in warm milk.

"You've a healthy son, my lady," the midwife piped up, a grin splitting her lips. She continued with her washing, as if she hadn't just delivered the most momentous news ever to Gwen.

A son?

An heir?

She had done it?

Too consumed with her thoughts she allowed Eleanor to help her into bed. Having the chance to rest her tired limbs after so long of standing and crouching felt marvelous.

A cheer from the corridor caused her to jump, having not realized that Beatrice had left the room to alert the crowd of nobles waiting that a son had been born.

Guinevere accepted a goblet of milk from Catherine while Eleanor dabbed at her face with a cool rag.

All the while she kept her gaze on her child, as if she couldn't stand to look away for a single second.

Finally he was dried and wrapped up in a cloth. Batilda herself presented him to Guinevere, a tear in the elderly woman's eye from her joy.

The nurse guided the babe into the correct position in his mother's arms and then stepped back to allow mother and child a moment alone.

Gwen stared at her son in wonder, reaching up a hand to rub a finger against his smooth cheek.

"My darling little boy," she said, finding her vision growing blurry.

The crying babe calmed slightly, recognizing the voice of his mother. She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his smooth, bald head. His skin coloring favored her, but she couldn't tell much else yet who he resembled.

"The wet nurse is here, lamb," Batilda prodded, beckoning the chosen woman forward.

It was unacceptable for a woman of her standing to feed her own child. Reluctantly she handed over her greatest treasure to the other woman, watching the entire time as she left the bedchamber to feed the infant.

"Arthur," she said, suddenly remembering that her husband wasn't here.

She grabbed Batilda's hand, and repeated her request.

"After the babe finishes eating, love," she replied, patting her hand and pressing a kiss to the princess' curls as she had often done during her former charge's childhood.

It took what seemed like ages for her little boy to finally reach a fully tummy. He was then returned to her, content and quiet.

Her old nurse remembered her request as her husband nearly flew into the room a few moments later.

She glanced up at him, suddenly feeling shy that he was seeing her in such a bedraggled state.

He strode toward her, surprising her by kissing her fully.

Her cheeks, flushed with the exertion of childbirth, reddened even more by this public display.

Finally he extracted himself from her in order to gaze at the now sleeping bundle in her arms.

"It's really him," he said, speaking in such a quiet voice. He knelt beside her bed, reaching a hand hesitantly toward the child to cup his head. He used the most lightest of touches, afraid that even the slightest prod would somehow injure his son.

"I'm so proud of you," he said, his voice still quiet as he turned his gaze onto her. She was startled to see moisture pooling in his eyes and reached out to him with her free hand. He buried her head into her curls, allowing himself a moment to compose himself.

"Would you like to hold him?" she asked a moment later, wishing to share this gift with him.

"And speaking of 'him', we need a name."

They had spoken of names since the time of the announcement of her pregnancy. Many had been thrown between them, for both genders. For a girl it would have been Isabelle. Yet for a boy they had both decided on Llacheu.

Neither had a relative with the name nor a close friend with it. It was better, they felt, that the child not be named after someone they knew. That way the boy wouldn't live in the shadow of his name for his entire life.

"Llacheu," he said, remembering quite well the name that they had chosen.

Gently she guided him into his father's arms, trying not to laugh at how disjointed Arthur looked. She tried to adjust his grip a bit more to better suit the child, yet all the jostling woke the child.

His lips puckered as a cry rested on the tip of his tongue.

Yet his father's soft 'shhh's had Llacheu questioning his choice of wailing. Tiredly he peeped open his eyes enough to squint at the blurry shape before him. He put the sound of his father's voice, often heard from his days in the womb, to the manly blur. Content he drifted back off to sleep.

Gwen chuckled at her son's display, finding that her vision blurred after a few moments. Caught between laughing and crying in joy she buried her head into her husband's neck, allowing him to shush both mother and babe to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Hey! I am sorry about the abnormally long wait. School has been keeping me busy, far more than it's ever done before. I'm not sure if I'm going to have a set schedule with the last few chapters due to last minute homework, but expect to have more consistent updates once school ends. Thanks for sticking with me, and I'm sorry that this chapter is pretty brief.

Disclaimer: BBC owns "Merlin".

If she strained, Gwen thought that she might just be able to hear the laughter and music from the Hall. Despite the late hour the festivities were still going on, as the court was both drunk on Uther's wine store and the fact that a heir had been born. In comparison to the joyous scene that must be occurring in the Hall, her lying in chambers seemed quite dismal. Despite having given birth already, she was still confined to these chambers until she could be 'churched', or blessed by the bishop. Until then she was required to remain in her old chambers, resting from the hardship of childbirth. Frankly, she was almost glad that she was not able to leave. Of course she missed being able to walk freely about the citadel or take a ride through the surrounding wood. But having a bit of quiet time to rest and recuperate wasn't that bad either.

It was a relief, then, that mothers were not permitted to attend their child's christenings. As she had yet to be churched this was impossible. Instead, she had been bathed and dressed in a new gown of pale blue silk to await the return of her son, husband, and a select few nobles. Countess Isabella, the second highest lady in the kingdom following the future queen, had stood in for Morgana as proxy Godmother, giving her the right to present the newly christened baby to his mother. She had then been presented with a bouquet of late summer roses, in reference to the Mother of Christ by her husband. The king, her father-in-law, had gifted her an emerald necklace that had once graced Igraine's neck shortly after the birth of Morgana. That had been earlier that morning and the festivities had carried over into the next, with no sign of stopping.

She rolled over in bed as Lady Eleanor entered, the gaiety of the goings on in the hall apparent on her cheeks. Batilda had chosen to stay and watch over her, while the rest of her ladies had been sent to join the festivities. Gwen couldn't imagine denying them the joy that the celebration would bring, especially her two youngest ladies. Watching her sleep was far less entertaining than dancing the night away.

Eleanor curtseyed before rising to meet her gaze.

"His Highness Prince Arthur is here to see you, my lady," she said, stepping back to allow her husband in. In his arms was a carefully wrapped bundle, that even in the dim lighting she could discern as her son. Guinevere smiled brightly as she beckoned both males over.

Wordlessly, Eleanor departed the room to allow the small family time alone.

Arthur took up a spot beside her in bed, shifting the bundle so that Gwen may gaze upon her sleeping son's face. She gently traced his cheek with her finger, giggling quietly as the babe puckered his lips and turned toward the digit. The pair watched their son sleep for a few moments before Arthur raised his eyes from Llacheu to her.

"He was the ideal prince today," he commented, handing off the bundle to his wife. Gwen adjusted her hold on him to better support his head as she listened to Arthur. "You should have seen him; not a cry out of him, even with dozens of nobles peering into his face." Her husband gently cupped the boy's head, feeling the warmth of their child as if to reassure himself that Llacheu was actually there.

"That was, until the bishop poured the water over his head. Poor lad." Gwen chuckled lightly, pressing a kiss to the head that had been earlier covered by Holy Water.

"I must tell Hunith that he will be difficult to bathe," she mused, wondering if the boy would prove difficult in other areas of child rearing as well. Perhaps it was too early to tell.

A warm kiss pressed to her temples broke her from her thoughts about her son's potentially destructive childhood.

"How are you feeling?" her husband asked, reaching up a hand to brush aside a curl that had escaped the braid that rested against her back. The fine cloth of his tunic brushed against her cheek at the movement, drawing her attention to his attire. He, along with their son, had been dressed in their best that day for the festivities. She herself had stitched Llacheu's christening gown months before his actual birth. Her needlework was clearly present upon the hem of the gown, where the Pendragon insignia was stitched into the pure white cloth.

Realizing that Arthur was waiting for an answer, she moved her thoughts away from how handsome both of her men had looked that day.

"Better," she admitted, having walked around her chambers for the better part of the day. It felt nice to simply walk after being confined to her bed for two days.

"My thighs do not hurt nearly as much." That particular part of her body had been terribly uncomfortable following the birth. Having to brace herself on the birthing stool in combination with walking about her chambers for the birthing process had left her poor muscles worn out.

His hand shifted from where it had been resting upon her shoulder after brushing back the curl, to the very area of her body that she had just commented on. It hadn't meant to be an erotic touch, despite the area, but one of comfort. His hand felt secure against her blanket covered thighs, yet she was still able to feel the heat of his skin through the layers of cloth. She shivered despite herself, feeling a blush bloom on her cheeks.

Really! A simple touch through fabric and she was reduced to a red-faced mess?

She hadn't the chance to hide the emotion that had passed across her face, as her husband's hand moved higher up her leg.

It felt almost as if a current was running up her body from his touch, bringing her to life. She leaned closer to him as he did to her, resting his hand upon the apex of her thighs as his lips descended over hers. For perhaps the first time in months she felt the familiar stirring of lust.

That was, until the third member of their small family voiced his disapproval.

Gwen broke their kiss, resting her forehead against her husband's for a moment as they both tried to regain their breathing. After a moment she focused her attention on her son, smoothing his bald head in an effort to comfort him.

"Are you jealous, my little love?" she teased, pressing a kiss to the baby's temples. She could see out of the corner of her eyes that Arthur had retreated somewhat, his hand away from her leg and instead running through his hair.

There would be time for their…intimacies later. After she was churched and able to rejoin society again.

She readjusted her son's swaddling cloths and was pleased as he began to quiet. Instead of wailing as he had done moments before, he looked up at her with curiosity. Then, deciding that his mother was rather boring compared with the events of the day, he drifted back off to much needed sleep.

"I'll let you rest," her husband volunteered, reaching out for their son.

Carefully, as to not wake him, Guinevere handed the prince to Arthur.

Llacheu looked rather secure in his father's strong arms. She knew that her husband would fight to his last breath for him, for her, for his father. Her heart swelled in that moment with her love for him, for both of them.

"Good night," she whispered, not wishing to disrupt their sleeping boy. Her husband bent down to press another kiss, a chaste one, upon her lips in parting.

Smiling once he left her alone to sleep, carrying the future king with him sleeping in his arms.

**0o0o0**

"Was there aid sent to Brooketon?"

Arthur looked up from the papers that were strewn across the desk before him to his wife, currently propped up on her morning-after bench. He leaned back in his chair, trying to remember the particular report.

"A flooding, correct? The river overran from the excess of rain?"

She nodded, still pouring over the documents.

He tapped his quill upon the desk lightly, recalling the event.

"Food and supplies were sent up a day after we received the report," he recalled, setting down the quill.

"Kay left Progress with some of the knights to deliver it himself."

The princess nodded, turning her attention to another parchment.

She knew she had missed much in the weeks she had been confined to her lying-in chamber, but she hadn't realized exactly how much!

The day following her churching so far had consisted of her going through as many State papers as possible. From what she had read there had been an excess of rain toward the northern borders that had proved disastrous for a number of farms. Additional aid would have to be sent to the smattering of towns closer to the change in seasons so that they may survive the winter.

Guinevere looked up, having noticed the feeling of another's eyes on her.

Her brown eyes met Arthur's blue, staring at her intently.

"What?" she asked, her brows furrowing. He stood from his chair, crossing the room to where she was sitting.

He knelt before her, taking the hand that currently did not have a parchment clutched in it and turned it so that the inside of the wrist was facing up. He pressed a soft kiss to her pulse point, grinning as he felt the rate of her pulse increase beneath his lips.

"I've missed you," he whispered against her skin, sending a shiver down her back.

Part of her was terribly nervous as to what he would think of her post-birthing body. She had marks upon her skin where it had stretched from the added weight, plus she had not gotten rid of all of the extra weight that the babe had brought with it. It had only been around two weeks after the birth, and Batilda had assured her that her body would return to normal after a time. She planned on taking as many riding trips as she could within the next few weeks, and she had heard from quite a few court ladies of the advantages such exertion gave.

Would he not be pleased with how she looked? True, her breasts still carried their pregnancy-plumpness, but that was perhaps the only thing that she had taken note of that might please him. Otherwise she was afraid to see his reaction.

His lips descended upon hers and effectively pushed aside her worries. She gasped softly as he stood quickly, laying her back against the bench. His body draped hers a moment later as their lips moved in tandem. Despite her earlier misgivings she found herself arching against him, gaining a rather pleasing sound from his throat at her movements. Fire engulfed her veins as she met his lips hungrily, surprising him for a brief moment before he matched her own energy.

His touch was urgent as his fingertips skimmed the expanse of her chest exposed by the cut of her gown. Her own hands went to his back, gripping him tighter in order to make sure that not one single movement was missed by either of them.

"My lady?"

Gwen jumped, knocking her knee into Arthur in surprise. He bit his lip, sitting up from her and withholding a grunt of pain. Feeling her face turn red she realized that her knee had collided with the now most sensitive part of his body. She shot him a small smile of apology before turning her head toward the chamber door.

"One moment!" she called, hoping that Catherine had heard her and didn't come barging in. How embarrassing that would be! She pulled herself up, a hand going to her hair to smooth her curls. As she cleared her throat she watched as Arthur retreated to the window casing, facing the courtyard as he tried to regulate his breathing.

"Enter," she commanded a few seconds later, hoping that she didn't feel as disheveled as she looked.

Her lady-in-waiting entered the room, dropping to a curtsey at the sight of the royal pair. "Sir Kay is here to speak with Your Highnesses," she announced, stepping back to allow the knight through. She ducked out shortly afterward, leaving the three alone.

As it was not a lady of the court or a servant that had entered, Arthur was forced to turn around and face one of his most competent men. At least, by now, he had managed to rid his cheeks of the flush that had settled there from their near-amorous encounter.

Ector's son bowed before the pair before carefully straightening. He clasped his hands behind his back, turning slightly to face Arthur much as he would on the training grounds. Gwen placed her hands in her lap as her husband gave the knight a small nod of acknowledgment.

"I have come to ask a boon of you both," he began.

As neither royal interrupted him, both a tad surprised that Kay was to ask for something when he normally refrained from doing such, he continued.

"I believe I have reached a point in my life where it would be wise to take to wife a lady of the court. After much consideration I have chosen a woman to become my lady wife, one that I hope my liege that you will approve of: Lady Eleanor Dubois."

Guinevere felt a smile form upon her lips at the name. She had seen both Kay and Eleanor exchange looks over the past year, as well as quiet talks when they thought no one was watching. As Eleanor was one of her ladies-in-waiting, it was Gwen's duty to look out for her well-being. If both Sir Dubois and the king consented, she would be quite pleased.

"My father is to formally request permission from King Uther on the morrow, but I was hoping that perhaps you may breach the matter to him before," the knight continued, his cheeks taking on a hint of red. She might have embraced him for joy, but she feared that might shock the normally reserved knight.

Arthur nodded, a smile light on his lips.

"I believe such a match would be beneficial to you both. The lady has served my wife well since coming to court, and I believe that she has learned adequately from the princess on how to run a household," her husband commented, raising a fear in her that she can't considered until now.

"Do you plan to have Lady Eleanor remain at your estate?" she inquired, having been so caught up in being happy with her lady-in-waiting that she had forgotten the chance of Eleanor leaving court.

The young knight shook his head.

"I would prefer she remain here, at court beside me. Perhaps later, once we've had our children, we may go. But until then..."

It was a wise move. Kay was in Arthur's favor, and would surely be raised to a high position once he became king.

Her husband nodded once more.

"Then you may trust me to broach the subject with my father as soon as I can."

The knight smiled, a bit of his formality melting away in that moment. Gwen wondered if that was the same smile that Eleanor received from him.

"You are both most gracious, Your Majesties," he said, bowing before the royal pair. Taking a step back he took his leave of them.

As soon as the door closed Gwen turned to face Arthur, a grin in place upon her lips.

"Isn't it marvelous?" she inquired, all thoughts of their earlier almost-romp gone from her mind. For now all she could think of was the wonderful celebration she would help plan for within the coming months.

Arthur took up his vacated chair, running a hand through his hair.

A chuckle rose past his lips.

"About time, too. If she walks past our training grounds one more time Kay might be missing a limb."

She laughed, unable to see the normally on-target knight distracted.

"May I go speak to your father, please? Maybe he will be more open to the match if I request it?"

He snorted before picking up the papers that he had neglected.

"If you suggest setting fire to the citadel my father would give you permission," he noted, knowing well that the king had always been over-indulgent when it came to Gwen and Morgana.

She smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaving him to his papers.

As she passed through her sitting room she caught sight of Eleanor bent over her needlework. Among her blonde tresses was a fresh flower, one that Guinevere did not recall the noblewoman wearing that morning. Biting back a smile she entered the corridor and set off off for the king's chambers.

Afterward, she mused, she would stop by her son's chambers. By now he hopefully was awake from one of his many naps. Hunith assured her that all babies slept quite a bit, but she did enjoy seeing him staring up at her. He couldn't do much yet, but already she was imaging the time they would spend together once he was capable of crawling and talking.

Nodding to the guard stationed at her father-in-law's door she knocked once before entering the receiving room. It was oddly quiet, prompting her to step farther into the array of rooms.

"Your Highness?" she called, yet found no response.

Hesitating before the king's bed chamber she knocked once more, but yet again received no answer.

Tentatively she opened the door before padding into the room before nearly falling upon the comatose king on the floor.


End file.
